Barrow Fields Vedrai, vedrai!

Far from here, the priest supplied. Pier wanted to say me too, withering and acidic, but held his tongue.

I still don't know yet, he responded, if that is a bet I'm willing to take. The wager felt far too dangerous. The cards burned like phosphorous in his hands.

He posed this question with care, and a certain amount of self-consciousness that made his face tighten further, his brow a shelf above his averted eyes. I'd like to talk to you again. Not now, not here, but later. Where will I be able to find you? What is your name?