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. His skin is smooth, but there is a
maturity in his bearing that causes me to guess his age at
perhaps fifty. Nevertheless, he moves easily - with far more
energy than I can manage!
Soon the priest turned onto a side trail, and we quickly
passed between a pair of looming pillars into a small,
sheltered grotto - a small niche protected by the much
larger hills. A clear pool of water, surrounded by drooping
willows, formed the centerpiece of the vale. Among the
broad tree trunks I noticed several headstones. It was the
most peaceful and pastoral setting for a cemetery this well-
traveled scribe has ever seen.
"I hope you approve of the arrangements," said
Erasmoth when, at length, we had passed among the graves
to reach a flowered mound with an admirable granite
marker, clearly bearing the name of Tyrol Deet, and
marking his station as a scribe of Your Greatness.
(Indeed, though his actual rank was a mere assistant
scribe, I saw that insufficient space remained upon the
stone for a correction; therefore, I let the matter lie.)
"Very nice," I said. "You have honored him well."
"No more than you honor us by your presence,"
Erasmoth informed me.
"The honor is to my master's name - Astinus,
Lorekeeper of Krynn," I reminded him.
"Quite. The written affirmation of a historian such as
yourself will validate the truth of my faith. The gods have
not abandoned Krynn! They merely require the proper
forms of approach from those who would worship them."
"In reference to these gods," I responded, grateful for the
opportunity to broach the subject of my quest, "young Deet
was quite vague in his letter
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