Kaelith moved to the shelf by the far wall, reached into a narrow drawer, and pulled out a weathered, leather-bound journal. As he flipped it open, Hale finally stirred, sitting up and rubbing a hand across his face.
"You're thinking again," Hale muttered.
Kaelith didn't look away from the page. "I never stopped."
Hale slid out of bed and began to dress slowly. "What is it?"
Kaelith turned a few pages, finding what he was looking for an entry written in faded ink and delicate script. He ran his fingers over it.
"There's someone I need to find," he said. "A priestess. She once served in the southern reaches of the kingdom. Near the border with Khasidar."
Hale paused, fastening his belt. "You think she has answers?"
"She knew things." Kaelith turned toward him. "About Veiled Spirits. About Whispers. Things I didn't believe back then. But now... the scroll lines up too closely with what she described."
"And you trust her?"
