Andor had indeed emerged refreshed from his bath, but the expected relief had not come. The heaviness around his heart was sticky like tar and there was no water that could purge him from his guilt. Perhaps all he needed were a few hours of sleep, a brief escape from reality which by now resembled a nightmare. He forced himself into a faster pace, the rows of trees beside him blurring into a hazy wall of darkness. The night was pitch black, but he knew his way home like the back of his hand. Wide ferns crept up on him on both sides, the sweeping leaves brushing his arms in a comforting way as if they too sensed his unrest.

The pathway began to widen until it fanned out into three smaller ones, all of them running off into the darkness of the woods. Andor kept to the one on the right, his feet gliding over the carpet of moss and root with unwavering precision. The gurgling of a nearby brook filled the silence around him with its soothing melody, calming his heartbeat with every step he took.

Through the thicket ahead a wide tree trunk came into sight, the house sitting amidst its branches nearly obscured by the jet black night. It was one of the oldest oaks in the southern part of Ilaros and it had appeared to Andor as a stroke of luck when the former owners, a childless couple, had finally decided that it was time for them to set sail across the Emerald Sea and explore the lands beyond. Being regular clients of Olear, they had known Andor since his childhood days, and were more than glad to have their house pass into his hands. If they had been aware of the fact that he might not have had the means to call a house his own, or they had been simply glad not to see their home fall into ruins, he never knew.

It was a modest sized house and had been in dire need of repairs, but with the help of his friends Andor had managed to turn the ancient and slightly run down treehouse into an abode that he could call his own with no small amount of pride. There had been only one catch. The house wasn't as uninhabited as it had appeared at first sight.

Andor climbed the set of narrow stairs that wound around the tree trunk like a ribbon and led up to a near circular platform. The oak's sturdy branches held the wooden structure like a set of untiring arms. The house itself consisted of several parts in different shapes and sizes, all of them nestled tightly against the tree. They appeared to be growing out of it like a family of mushrooms hugging the trunk in a fierce symbiotic embrace. Curved walls with round windows that were anything but regular, a slanted roof atop covered in a thick rug of moss, all gave off an aura of ancientness that was both awe-inspiring and inviting at the same time.

Andor pushed open the door, the familiar creaking announcing his arrival like the tinkling of a door bell. He closed it with a soft thud behind him, leaning against the warm and solid surface, his head falling back, and exhaled a long breath. Finally, he was home, safe from all harm, out of the grasp of king and council. Of course, the one shadow that haunted him with eyes the colour of a brilliant summer sky stubbornly refused to be locked out at all.

As Andor hung his bow and quiver on the hook beside the door, a ripple ran through the air. He wasn't as alone as he had hoped to be.

"Did you enjoy that bath of yours?" The croaky words floated above him as a soundless pair of wings soared on top of his head and then a grumpy bundle of mottled brown feathers landed inside the hollow of the tree trunk that made up the centre of his house.

"As a matter of fact, I did," he said without looking at his winged cohabitant and reaching for a pair of crystal orbs that rested on the shelf beside the door. "And how many times have I told you not to sneak up on me like that?" Andor threw the owl a withering glare and then turned his attention to the two small globes that lit up at his mere touch. A warm and golden light flared up inside them and with a gentle push from his hands he sent them floating upwards, where they hovered in mid air, bathing the house in a comfortable amber glow.

"It's not my fault that we owls are blessed with soundless wings." With those words the bird took off again, spiralling lazily around the tree trunk. Andor pulled a towel from a rack along the wall, ducking instinctively as he headed towards the large table on the opposite side of the house. He let himself sink onto one of the wooden chairs and proceeded to dry his still damp hair.

The owl landed on the table, her talons screeching over the surface as she skidded to a halt in front of him. She quickly regained her poise and smoothed down her feathers, which had turned into a deep brown to blend perfectly with the colour of the table. Only the feathers around her eyes remained coal black and made her appear as if she were bespectacled, her unblinking eyes fixed on him.

"Stop staring at me like that. It's irritating." Andor worked through the lengths of his hair, trying to ignore her yellow eyes that seemed to gleam with the intensity of two little suns.

"Irritating?" came the hooting answer and then there was a sharp tug on his towel. "I think you are the one who is irritating."

Andor pulled the towel from her beak and threw it over the backrest of his chair, suppressing a sigh. "I am not in the mood for your banter, Nebula, so I would appreciate if you would just take off. Don't you have some hunting to do?"

"Did your task not go well?" She hopped closer, completely ignoring his question and bobbing her head sideways from left to right, until her eyes stood in an almost vertical line.

"I don't want to talk about it." He rose abruptly and strode towards the small area behind the table that made up the kitchen. It consisted of a narrow hearth, a set of wooden cupboards, cabinets and shelves as well as some pots and pans hanging from hooks above. A sophisticated escape mechanism built into the roof allowed for the safe use of fire. It was one of the things of which his friends were most proud of, Caladon having put his wits to work and Bergil his technical skills.

Nebula let out a disapproving hoot. "Did something unexpected happen?"

"No, it didn't."

"Did you get hurt?"

"No, I didn't." Andor pulled out Serande's pouch from his pocket and dropped it inside a small wicker basket that hung suspended from vines, which grew along the walls and around the bolts supporting the roof.

"So everything went according to plan. You did not die and are also completely unharmed. Doesn't sound all that bad to me." Nebula puffed up her chest, lazily rearranging a few feathers. She appeared quite satisfied with her own cleverness, the staccato of her talons as she stalked across the table resounding through the silence.

"I may not be dead or injured," Andor said, bending down to open one of the cabinets in search for something to eat and shutting it again when he realised that he wasn't even hungry. "But I'd still rather be alone."

He rose again and leaned against the closet behind him, crossing his arms in front of his chest and meeting the owl's unblinking stare.

"Wallow in self pity as much as you want." Nebula clicked her yellow beak indignantly, turned away from him and hopped onto the windowsill, her feathers darkening against the night sky. "Suit yourself. I am going to enjoy the rest of the night on my own. And don't expect me to bring you something, because I won't." She spread her wings in a dramatic gesture, flapping them twice before taking off and then she was gone.

Andor watched her soar into the night sky until her shape was nothing more than a dark speck eaten up by darkness. He wasn't usually this grumpy with her, had even grown fond of her slightly bossy attitude. After many fruitless arguments with the eloquent bird, he had eventually resigned to accept her claim of being the original owner of his tree, had even caught himself referring to it as Nebula's tree.

Most of the time her company was not all that bad and she seemed to have developed a certain affection for him, which reflected in her bringing him the eventual dead squirrel or mouse as a token of friendship. Since he definitely didn't feel inclined to add tiny rodents to his menu, he usually buried them quietly around the tree while Nebula was out hunting. Chameleon owls were not only known for being highly intelligent, blessed with exceptional longevity and capable of speech, but also easily offended, so Andor made sure not to hurt her feelings, if it could somehow be avoided.

Now that he was finally alone, he strode over to his bed that stood on the other side of the house, the length of it curved to fit perfectly against the rounded wall. A collection of arrows in different lengths and designs were hung on display on top of the bed, the occasional drawing pinned between them. Beside it stood a small square desk with a chair, a round window on top of it. Andor sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He rubbed his fingers over his forehead and then raked his hands through his hair, the prospect of sleep the only thing on his mind, as he began to loosen the drawstring of his tunic.

Slivers of moonlight poured through the small window and onto his desk, pooling on top of a blank piece of paper that lay lonely and untouched like a white leaf on the surface. Andor's eyes widened in surprise, as he couldn't remember having left anything lying around on his desk, especially not a piece of paper. He was most careful to keep his belongings organised. A sudden breeze nearly sent the paper adrift, and Andor jumped up from the bed to catch it, before it would take flight and disappear into the inky sky. Holding it in his hand, it felt like a voiceless plea, but he wasn't sure he wanted to listen. He had silenced that voice, shut away even the whispered memories.

Andor sank into the chair, still hesitant about breaking the promise he had made to himself years ago. He did not need his past to come pouring in again, not when he was struggling to get through his present. But when he stared at the empty paper in his hands, he saw Rose's face as it faded right before his eyes, her features evaporating until only the blank canvas remained. It was all it took to make him toss aside his concerns. He might not be able to give her back her life, but he could make sure that her face would not be forgotten.

From the lowest drawer he pulled out a large rectangular wooden box, plain and without embellishments, the familiar smoothness of its polished surface evoking a strange mixture of elation and dread inside him. He placed it on the desk in front of him and clicked the metal lock open with his thumb. The lid flipped upwards and revealed an assortment of drawing utensils, chalks in red, white and black in different shapes, pieces of charcoal, quills made of feathers and reeds in various sizes and diameters, as well as several jars of ink. Andor exhaled a long breath as his eyes took in the sight. Everything looked as if it had just been put away after a drawing session, neatly organised and ready to be used once more, colours craving to be turned into life.

For a moment his fingers danced hesitantly atop the contents as he pondered his choice. Usually he would draw a quick sketch with outlines in pen and ink, but this drawing called for soft lines and subtle shades, so he settled for a piece of ochre chalk, perfect for achieving just that.

Andor placed the paper in front of him, lighting another small crystal sphere that hovered above the desk with the tip of his finger, and got to work.

His brows were furrowed in concentration as he sketched her face, careful to remember every single detail. The chalk in his hand flew over the paper with swift strokes, outlining the curve of her neck, the straight slope of her nose and roundness of her ears, her wavy hair as it fell over her cheeks. A smile curled his lips when the image began to take shape, white turning to reddish-brown before his eyes. He placed shadows for added depth, his tempo now slow and deliberate, his fingers moving almost tenderly as he highlighted her eyes, recreating the way they had looked at him when he had leaned in to kiss her.

When he was done he stared at the portrait, his fingers tracing the delicate sweep of her brow, lingering on the sensual curve of her lips for another beat before he tore his eyes away, unable to look at her face without his emotions threatening to overcome him completely. Now he wasn't so sure anymore that this had been such a good idea. Had he wanted to draw to forget or to remember?

With a frustrated sigh he dropped the paper on the desk and turned towards his bed. He didn't even bother to remove his clothes and simply threw himself onto the mattress, hoping that the Ancient One might have mercy on him and gift him a deep and dreamless sleep. Perhaps his pleas were heard, or it was simply another benefit of Serande's tea, but Andor drifted off almost instantly into a sleep that finally granted him a few hours of reprieve. Tomorrow awaited him with yet another challenge.