Sharpe rubbed his temples; exhaustion etched deep into his face as the strange woman jabbed a limp fish toward him. Her words came in a torrent of guttural sounds, half-growling, half-song, none of which he understood. Around them, the Prancing Pony’s patrons leaned forward with wide eyes, some stifling laughter, others muttering uneasily.

Sharpe, who had never known the weight of a gift given in kindness, gazed upon its beauty in awe, his heart trembling with wonder. With quiet reverence, he clasped it to his breast, vowing never to part with the token.   

His worst fear has been realised, his quest for renewal threatened. A rider in the night delivered a letter to Drevorin at the Inn of the Prancing Pony. What he had hoped was a letter from Izre turned out to be something quite different entirely. An old adversary, one of his greatest foes from the dark days.

There was something wrong with me Uncle. I just had ter look at his face, and he flushed red an looked away. It were not like him. Now the others were already washed an in bed. Miss Lithea came an sat with us though. She was curious right enough.

I didn't mean ter be pushy at all, but I was tired meself, an after the past few months travellin' I wanted a rest. "Let's have it then?"

"Have what, lad?"

"Have whatever be troublin' yer," I said plainly. 

One of the very rare images made of the Lady of the Rivers. What she actually is, even the Wise do not say.

Kaerun visits the library in Bree once again (little to nobody's surprise), studying maps and directories to learn the best routes to take for the hopeful journey North. Maybe there will be something worth seeing on the way?