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Ahead of him were the water, the birds, the smell of rich earth, the warmth of the sun—and her promise that she would be waiting for him.
Ahead of him was sanity.
But there was also knowledge there, pain there. He could feel it.
Daemon.
A familiar voice, but not the one he longed to hear. He sorted through his memories until he could attach a name to the voice.
Manny. Talking to someone about toast and eggs.
Daemon.
He knew that voice, too. Surreal.
A part of him ached for ordinary conversation, for simple things like toast and eggs. A part of him was very afraid.
He took a step backward . . . and felt a door gently close behind him.
The stone sentinels had become a high, solid wall.
He leaned against it, trembling.
No way back.
Daemon.
Gathering up his shredded courage, he walked toward the voices, toward the promise.
Walked out of the Twisted Kingdom.
