Now, his service was at an end, though Arthur argued that he needed Wolfe more than ever. Wolfe himself needed solitude and reflection.
His heart was gone. His body was tired.
And his soul…
His soul no longer existed in the waking world. Only in dreams.
“Are you sure you won’t come with me?” Tristan asked for the umpteenth time. “Arthur will be displeased when I return to Camelot without you.”
“He knows my stance,” Wolfe said, finishing his ale in one gulp.
“I will go my own way. I am no longer needed at Camelot.”
“I need you,” Tristan grumbled.
“You do not.”
“Well, I like your company.”
Wolfe clapped a hand on Tristan’s shoulder as he stood up from his seat. He didn’t like long goodbyes.
“I like yours as well, boy. But ’tis time to go our separate ways.”
Tristan stood as well. He was half a head shorter than Wolfe, which meant that he was still a head taller than the average Briton.
“Where will you go?” the boy asked. “What will you do?”
“Arthur bequeathed me some land in the east, near the village where I grew up,” Wolfe replied. “He paid me good coin for my years of service. I shall travel there, then decide what to do. Perhaps I’ll take up farming.”
Tristan snorted with disbelief.
“Or masonry,” Wolfe added. “Or become a blacksmith. Now that monster-hunting and soldiering are no longer trades that are high in demand.”
“And mayhap find a comely maid to wed and beget a bushel of babies,” Tristan offered with a sly grin.
Wolfe merely pulled his recalcitrant lips into the semblance of a smile, though the sentiment failed to reach his eyes.
“Farewell, boy,” he said gruffly, squeezing Tristan’s shoulder.
The “boy” wasn’t having it. He pulled Wolfe into a bearhug, squeezing the breath out of him and thumping his back heartily.
“Farewell, Wolfe. I hope you find what you’re looking for, wherever it is that you will go.”
With that, Wolfe walked out of the alehouse, and rode his horse eastward.
The farther he went from Camelot, the more deserted the roads and surrounding landscape became. Until the paved Roman roads became dirt paths, and civilization turned to wilderness.
Well into the night, when he could no longer continue without risking making his stallion lame-footed, he camped on the bank of a small, serene lake. He roasted rabbits over a fire while his horse grazed nearby. When both their bellies were full, he lay back upon the summer grass and dug into the pouch he always carried with him, secured at his hip.
Reverently, as he did every night, he withdrew a perfect tear, the size of a small pear, smooth and cool like moonstone, but bright like a diamond. As if a heaven full of stars shone from within.
It was Rui’s tear.
Crystalized in the cavern’s pool when it fell from her dragon chin.
It was the only thing, besides Wolfe, Arthur, Tristan and Morgan’s memories that proved the adventures five years ago had been real.
Sometimes, Wolfe wondered if he’d dreamed it all.