"You're awake?"
An aged face appeared before his blurred eyes.
As the darkness in his eyes gave way to tears and waking clarity, the old man collapsed beside the bed and wailed, "You slept too long... Annan... far too long..."
"...Who are you?"
Annan found something familiar in that impossibly aged face.
"It's me, Martin!" the old man cried.
"How did you get... so old?"
A Blizzard howled outside the window. Another Deepwinter...
"Because you were unconscious for so long..." an Old Woman stood nearby, her voice full of grief. "It's the year 1077 of the Saint Laurent Calendar... We thought you'd never wake up..."
"Evelyn... right?"
Annan gazed at the woman's gray hair and murmured her name.
Evelyn could no longer hold back. She buried her face against Annan's chest and sobbed.
What on earth happened...?
Annan's memories ended on the day the Frost Giant invaded. Seventy-eight years... How could that be...?
"Aunt Susan and Uncle Holin!" Annan suddenly remembered a pain he could not bear. "Where are they?"
"...They're both dead!" Old Martin cried even harder.
Annan lay stunned on the bed, recalling memories that felt both close and impossibly distant... Aunt Susan's family, Mr. Victor, Faster, Lady Fine Wine... At last, the gentle features of the Elf Mentor came to mind.
Irelaniel should still be as young as she had been seventy-eight years ago. But what about him?
Just as Annan grew curious enough to ask for a mirror, the door opened. His eyes came into focus, and he saw Aunt Susan and Uncle Holin standing in the doorway, just as he remembered them.
His sluggish mind was still wondering whether they had come to take him away when Uncle Holin grabbed Martin by the hair. Aunt Susan hurried to the bedside, delighted. Tina Wright flashed past