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He looked well? He chose not to debate that.

“Mayra…” Nithel repeated slowly, looking down, but also at her face. It was hurting her, his lack of remembrance. If it meant anything, the name was beautiful. “Your name is lovely.” … “And I’m sorry.”

He glanced at Alessio, wondering if he was the youth he had at the back of his memory. Wondering if he gave him the leather. Absently he felt the strap, and the wood pieces hanging from it. Waiting. Unsure what to say, or if he should say or do anything.

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