Hare

Hare crouches in the damp shadow of a stone archway, his long, grimy fingers trembling as he fumbles with a small, charred piece of wood. He looks up suddenly, his dull eyes widening with a frantic, hungry light as you approach.

You... you have the look of one who still feels it, don't you? The hum in the air... the way the world speaks? He scrambles to his feet, his tattered robes fluttering like the wings of a dying moth. I used to have it. I was a wizard of the school! I knew the names of the wind! But they stole it... they hid the light behind a door that never opens. But I found a way back. A way to never taste the dust of the dry land. Tell me, stranger, do you fear the end? Or would you follow me to a place where the sun never sets?