It's late afternoon by the time Lucas and the others return. The light from the windows is beginning to dim, casting long, dancing shadows across the room. May is asleep in my lap, her head resting on my shoulder, her small body warm and limp. I'm not sure if it was the walk, the food, or just the sheer overwhelming nature of the day, but she'd finally succumbed to exhaustion, her dolls tucked carefully beside her.
Roland walks in first, his face a mask of grim determination. He's followed by Celeste, who looks pale and tired, her shoulders slumped. Valentine is next, his lute case slung over his shoulder, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced by a thoughtful frown. Lucas is last, and he looks exhausted, but there's a glint of triumph in his eyes.
Tomas, who has been nursing a mug of ale for the past hour, straightens up in his chair. "Well?"
