The wanderer approached a townsman and said to him, "I seek Daemid."
The townsman said in reply, "That is his home," to which the wanderer nodded thanks before following the extended finger to the nearest door. He rapped firmly upon the portal until there was an answer. He was given the greeting of an old friend and welcomed into the house of Daemid. It had been years since last they had been together, and with drink they sought to fill in the spaces between them.
"Why must you always roam about?" asked Daemid.
The wanderer said in answer, "Do not yet ask," though with all other inquiries he was open and honest. The wanderer began to tell of his travels, and Daemid listened with great intensity.
The wanderer had been far to the north, beyond the two rivers to where the ramparts rose from the sea. Further still, he had been to the Dax Mountains, where it is said that men were as animals and animals were as men. He had journeyed very far into the south, to the lands of the Star Trees where the vixens play on the beaches and no man is safe. Between the Star Trees and Sendikar, there had been a dozen adventures worth describing in detail. The wanderer had been further yet to the West; over the Plaich Hills and past the River-So-Great-It-Could-Be-a-Sea, to the mysterious land of Adolor'koh. For hours did the wanderer talk, until long after nightfall. Then Daemid offered his friend a place to sleep, knowing that a friend is the best possible guest. The wanderer accepted the invitation and was soon in his Land of Dreams, dreaming things that were beyond belief, since he had lived most of what normal men dream.
The next day, while eating the first meal, the wanderer said to Daemid, "I should be on my way by midday." Daemid asked why, to which the guest replied sharply but not unkindly, "I have reason." Daemid did not ask further of him. The morning wore on and the farewells were said, then the traveller was on his way once more.
The wanderer made one stop before leaving town, to stock up on provisions. He would have stayed in town no longer, but things happened otherwise. The store he had chosen was a bit out of the way, and it seemed a trifle odd that he had chosen it at all, but he was a wise man and he followed his instincts. There was one other customer in the place, a striking lady who eyed him openly until he was forced to confront her.
He glanced at her, became momentarily befogged, then said flatly, "I see sixty one days." She was surprised and without words, and he added quickly, "but I do not yet see the cause." He smiled a confusing smile, and turned then to leave, but the lady called to him and he halted in the doorway. She saw something in him that was hard to define and harder to resist. They walked back toward town, as he had known they would. His quest was forgotten, and a great friendship brewing in subtle touches.
For a whole month the wanderer remained in Sendikar, spending the time wisely with the lady Essa. The wanderer told his tales to his new companion, and she listened in awe. They often dined with Daemid, and frequented those places where close friends tended to go, and they were content. Slowly the tales and places became more personal and the two grew closer together.
One day toward the end of this first month, the wanderer became suddenly distraught, and was seen to pace the floor of his room with a hopeless sort of anger. When the lady Essa asked of his peril, he said in reply: "I now see the cause, yet I am ensnared." She left him then with the feeling in her heart that things would right themselves, and she returned to what she had been doing.
For a second month the wanderer remained in town, and things seemed to right themselves as the lady had foreseen, yet something continued to trouble him. Even with the best of her considerable ability, Essa could not touch his worries, for he was a strongwilled man who had been through many hells and would not allow himself to be conquered, even by a woman. Always she would try new intrigues, and always she failed.
When their friendship was in its sixty-first day, the wanderer paid visit to the house of Essa and knocked steadily upon the door until there was an answer. The lady opened the door so that only a sliver of light pierced the early morning air to fall on her visitor. At the touch of this light, the traveller made comment, "I will be leaving now."
The lady seemed not to understand, and the wanderer explained thus, "My first words to you were 'i see sixty days' and I believe it has been just that. I saw the cause, but I could not help myself, for you are as good as you are untrue."
Essa asked how he knew. Since it was a question of his perceptiveness, it was rhetorical. She then said, "I meant well...", after which her jaw kept moving but brought forth no more sound, and her eyes welled up with tears.
The wanderer was pained by her grief, but was not hindered by his feelings. He commented, "I have to feel sorry for you, though ..."
But the lady interrupted him by saying, "You can stay here, in Sendikar, you know. Surely there are others ...?"
The traveller stood in the doorway, shaking his head slowly, but the door feared to open any further. Essa said at that point, "We shall miss you then."
But he disagreed, saying, "No. It is I who shall be missing you. And I pity you, for your lover will not live to see autumn. There will be an accident. Soon."
There was silence. To the doorway, the wanderer called out, "Farewell, Daemid! I know you're in there! Wherever I have gone, my so-called friends have deceived me. Now you know why I must wander. Bridges collapse in my footsteps, and I shall not pass Sendikar again!"
There was a reply from the direction of the lady's bedroom, and the soft sound of rustling sheets and the pulling-on of clothing. The voice was the voice of Daemid, and though it sounded like a farewell, it lacked true feeling. The lady opened the door and reached out to embrace the wanderer, but it was a trap, an invitation to pain.
The wanderer turned toward the street.