Staring up. The ceiling shown through with stars. Or, was that some mage's trick, a trompe l'oeil of the universe? Tricks and deceptions. Her heart felt vast, and coldly lit. She hadn't seen him in a fortnight, or longer. She searched for her faith, but there was a broken bridge, a burnt path, with no passage, and the ferryman was habitually silent. Where was he? Was he all right? His friendship was more to her than enchanted leggings or new bags. Was he safe? Did he need her help? No way of knowing. The stars weren’t speaking to her, either.
Espero que estés bien, señor. Te echo de menos.