Erian closed his eyes along the way to guide himself more easily, trusting his memories more than his newly returned sight.
As he walked, the sounds around him shifted, children's laughter, then talk about prices, then silence broken only by the creak of carts.
The houses felt larger, their walls echoing his footsteps. The air grew stiller, thick with fibers and humidity, a sign he was near the district where the cloth merchants lived, the same place where Malric had grown up.
Then he heard it, the rhythmic, steady, familiar thud of looms at work. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself before a large two-story house, its wide front yard filled with workers spreading fabric out to dry.
And for the first time since returning to the village, Erian felt something close to visual familiarity. The shapes, the colors, the structure, all matched what he had imagined so many times when visiting Malric.
His heart eased slightly.
This place was indeed the same as always.
