"At times like these, I wish for paper and ink, or at least slate. Something to write on, write with, to make things line up clearly." But he shook his head, lifted a hand to wave the thought away. "Maunderings of an old man; forgive me."

But he remembered: He was not precisely old anymore, at least in body. That would take some getting used to. Even now, just seeing his hands hale and hearty was a surprise.