Despite the old man's blindness and all the gray hair and the beard, there was no doubt it was his former guardian. But what had happened to his eyes? "Drushen!" he exclaimed, grasping the old man's shoulder. "It's Innowen!" Drushen turned his face upward toward the voice, his jaw falling slack. A violent tremor suddenly seized the old body and shook it like a child's doll. A low moan escaped his lips, a sound that rose in pitch, becoming a frightened keening. The mug slipped from his hands, spilled its contents into the lap of his garment, and clattered to the floor. Drushen lunged away from Innowen's touch, tumbling sideways off his chair. One hand grasped for his gnarled cane, which leaned against the wall, while he waved the other frantically to ward off any who approached him. Merit caught his arm and tried to help him up, but Drushen batted him away and struggled to his feet. "No!" Drushen moaned. It was the sound of a man staring into the face of terror. "No!" He swung his cane with both hands, carving a wide whooshing arc in the air before him as he staggered in the direction of the door.
