“So lonely!” she gasped, when at last she had to free his mouth so she could breathe. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

She buried her face against his neck as the tears came, managing to gasp, “My love!” through their flood.

Elminster held her both tightly and with great care, as if cradling something very precious and fragile. As she clung to him and writhed against him and tried to bury herself inside him.

“My love,” he murmured tenderly as she started to really sob, her body shaking. It was always thus, and he smiled in anticipation of what she’d say next, knowing she’d not disappoint him.

“Oh, my Elminster,” she hissed fiercely when she had mastered her tears. “I’ve been so lonely!”

“So have I,” he muttered, brushing the silver-haired crown of her head with his lips, “without ye.”

That brought fresh sobs, but they were soon conquered; when her wits were her own, Alassra Silverhand was acutely aware of how precious every moment was. “What … what year is it, and what month?”

“The fifth of Mirtul, of the Ageless One,” Elminster told her gently, knowing her next question before she asked it.

“What’s been happening, while I’ve been … wandering?”

El murmured replies and comforting words of love as he held her in one arm, feeling among his pouches with the other. He fed her some rather squashed grapes from one, then strong and crumbling Aereld cheese from another, and finally the ruined remnants of some utterly crushed little raisin tarts.

“Ahhh, I’ve missed those,” she said, savoring every crumb. Then a look of disgust passed over her face, and she peered around at the droppings and tiny bones strewn all over the rock. “What,” she whispered, “have I been eating?”

“The usual,” El told her soothingly. “Never mind that, my lady. We do what we must.”