Chapter 3 - Eyes on the road.md

Putting on the clothes Morgan had given him, Alwyn got up and went downstairs. The old man was not there. Neither were Alwyn's clothes which had been laid to dry by the fireplace. Through a window the sun was shining, illuminating the hearth. And he looked now, for the first time, at the drawing in full light. "Had her smile been sad before?" he wondered.

A moment of immense dread washed over Alwyn. For the one thing which he must not part with, had been hiding in his jacket. He gave a loud curse, damning his foolishness. Letting his guard down in all his weariness. Fully awake to his wits again, he stormed back to his bed of last night, where his sword was still leaning against the wall - where he left it before succumbing to sleep.

Flying up the stairs and not treating the old man's home all too kindly anymore, he slammed the door to his room open. There was no time to waste in his pursuit, wherever that may lead. Reaching for his sword, mind already racing down the street, he suddenly looked upon something strange. Down there, below the sword's sheath, he saw a little satchel. And it was that same satchel he placed into his jacket the day before.

Hastily he opened it, and there it was. And in that moment, as he touched the ball of dancing shadows, a voice began to form in his mind. A voice in disarray, a familiar one. It was Morgan, though it was as if he was speaking to some distant person, turned away from him. And whoever it was the old man spoke to, there was a disdain, a struggle to his voice. Then the scene seemed to change. The voice became clearer and now even the shadows began to take shape.

And in them a hand appeared, reaching almost out of the orb, and it moved gently and grasped outward, and Alwyn felt its pull on his head. Then a clear voice spoke to him. "Go now. Your hand is forced." Gasping he reeled backwards again as the orb's grip suddenly vanished. Images flashed in his head, images and mere thoughts too fast to understand any of them. And a new scene unfolded behind his eyes. There, amidst all his bewilderment, he perceived a city, and the city moved, like a wave, and folded upon itself and became a grand library - books upon books stacked inside its giant shelves, towering far into its limitless ceiling. Then, in a flash, standing in that library, he saw a face. It was the face of Beor. And before he could even call out to him he was consumed by the shadows and all went dark again.

Alwyn groaned, a throbbing pain surged through his head. The shadows stood still now, the Gesta sleeping as if nothing had ever happened. He sat there for several minutes. Again he was left to not make any sense of what happened around him. So many questions he did not know the answer to. Who was the old man Morgan. And why did the Gesta now reveal itself to him. If that giant library and Beor were anything more than a dream. What happened last night.

A silent knock brought him back from his thoughts. It came from below. Alwyn grabbed his sword, unsheathed it and stalked back, stealthily over wood and stairs towards the entrance of the house.

The knocking repeated, a bit stronger now. He waited, hiding where the door would make him disappear. Sword raised to his face, Alwyn was ready to strike whoever made the mistake of forcing themselves in.

A third, aggressive knock. Then silence. For a moment Alwyn relaxed, but then the keyhole made a clicking sound and slowly the door began to open, hiding him in the shadow of its frame. He caught his breath. Sword raised, he let the stranger pass in.

A sigh escaped his lips. A girl had walked in, almost skipping inwards, far too careless to mean any harm. Her long hair reached down over a basket that she held in her arms. It smelled nice, for she was carrying a basket of freshly baked bread. Then, without even taking in her surroundings she gave a loud call.

"Hey good Momo, if you don't wake up now… I'll have you give me that ring on top of my coin later."

Alwyn kept to the door, not wanting to reveal himself unless he had to. Not even waiting as much as a minute, she walked back out again, locking the door behind her. But the basket she left on the table.

It smelt wonderful to Alwyn, who only now realized how hungry he was - having eaten nothing for more than a day.

As he was sure that she had left, he sat at the table and took a large bite out of the first thing he reached in that plentiful basket. Slowly, warmth spread from his mouth to his whole body. A sweet taste, sweeter than any of his meals in the recent past. He smiled. Plain bread it was, still warm from the oven.

And now, as he sat there, mind coming to rest again, he tried to recall what happened. What had come to pass as he was asleep. Where was the old man. And did he leave a message, was he the reason Alwyn was able to read the Gesta? Sorrowful eyes looked at him as he gazed back at the portrait. And he knew then, whoever Morgan was, Alwyn would never see him again. Almost he felt guilty for eating away in this old man's home.

For all he did, the kindness he showed to Alwyn and the strange memories the Gesta had revealed to him, Alwyn wanted to find out more. Understand - why was he even here in the first place. There were so many questions he wanted to ask the old man. But Morgan was gone now - and Alwyn would find out why.

A familiar sensation came over him as he passed the door. Pulling, like a soft string, on his conscience - though the street was empty. But there was no time now to wonder about all the strange happenings.

He knew, wherever he went now, he would go where he needed to. Gone he may be, but direction was given to him by the old man. And he would follow its first path. The girl with the basket.