He put the torch out by standing it upside down in the fine sand of the earthenware barrel by his door, similar to those found at the firebrand stations. He climbed between his warm, woven-thistledown sheets, clutching the pouch with the bluestone in, half-hoping for something more to happen. He snuggled under his thick quilt of gossamer as the last vestige of pale moonlight was streaming through his window.
In spite of the frightening experience with the intruder, Nomis felt the beauty of the moonlight as it winked on the curved stone ceiling between the veins of the window. His thoughts returned to Pelydryn. As he held tightly onto the small leather pouch, he felt happy and secure in the knowledge that hopefully, very soon, he would be able to learn about the Gallael from Pelydryn. Then he would attempt to avenge his parents.
Gradually, without even noticing, he slipped into the realms of troubled sleep. His dreams were filled with foreboding, and yet more groping horrors. He dreamt of lights and ghostly faces mixed up with all sorts of emotions from profound sadness, to love and, finally, … cold rage. He was left with the memory of it followed by an overpowering desire to exact vengeance for his parents … most unusual for the normally placid Nomis.
Far, far away, Pelydryn could sense these dreams. He was both pleased and yet sad that Nomis should feel so. With a resigned sigh at such intensity clouding his task, he knew that Nomis would soon be his pupil in the arts of Gallael. At least, this youngster would have a greater chance of survival against Pruddydrwgnêr’s forces because of his in-born abilities. He would surely meet them face to face in the dangerous quest that lay ahead. He regretted that it was all happening so soon, and just hoped that the lad would be ready for what lay ahead.