Sairis's POV
When the bowl was empty and the plate had nothing left on it he set them both aside and sat for a moment with his hands in his lap and felt his body acknowledge the food in the quiet grateful way it had been doing every time he managed to eat something adequate, which had not been often enough.
He pulled the paper toward him.
The quill was beside it where Greta had dropped it. He picked it up and looked at the blank page.
He had no idea what he was going to draw.
This was the part he had been managing by instinct for six weeks, filling pages with roads and markers and junction points that meant nothing, constructed from fragments of geography he had absorbed over years of travel and reading and the general knowledge of someone who had spent time in enough places to sound convincing without being specific.
