[The shadow joins him without taking a second to deliberate. The empty sky, the moon shining down, the trees catching that light and holding it, laying down paths of shadow, roads of dark. The wind moaning through it all, through the forest and over to the village of humans and far away. The things he knows. The cold and the bright moon and the dark. One thing glowing bright in that darkness, a thing in the shape of a rose- but he turns away from that. Sets his thoughts on following the path of some remembered wind. By the time he finishes, he's calm enough to think.]

This is hard. You have memories closer to mine - to Roland's - than I thought.

Those were yours, weren't they? I can't tell. I'd rather not- I can't get too close, can't look at them to tell.