"Riekin, aren't you hungry?"
"..."
"He's been sitting there for hours with those damned cards!" Thomas sighed as he sat down beside the others, in the tavern on the outskirts of the town of Ipira. They all gazed silently at Riekin, who'd taken a booth a few yards away from them, and was currently using the tabletop for his tarot cards. "I hate it when he does that!"
"Riekin's will is what he follows, along with whatever he reads in those cards." Lazarion shook his head. "And he's reading something in them that we cannot fathom."
From across the way, Riekin gazed silently at the cards, his hood hiding his face from the world, only his pale blue eyes glistening through.
This is it, he decided, at last stretching and working out the tension in his back. Ipira is the place, and this young man is here even now, in this town...
We will meet in four short years, child... and I pray life treats you well until then... He turned over a card or two and sighed.
But then again, it won't.
