Belby.
He turned the name about in his mind, round and round. Though he had borne it for three decades, it did not fit right on his shoulders, altogether alien to the man—if he could be considered that—that had become Cyrus Westerman. Ephraim Belby had been a devoted husband, a doting father, and a wizard with a strong proficiency in the healing arts, one who held his head high in all matters and was cautiously optimistic about each new dawning day. Which of those traits could the Westerman boast as anything more than a shadow of what they had once been?
No, Cyrus Westerman was a pining ex- husband, a distant father, and fully a wizard no more (though, admittedly, still a healer). He lurked on the periphery of day to day life for fear he would be recognized for what he was, and saw each day as yet another obstacle to overcome. It was, frankly, a sign of cowardice that he still stood breathing at all.
The later could not be reconciled with the former.
"It's Westerman, now," he answered her, tone devoid of emotion, his shrug tasked with—and failing at—conveying all he did not say. About Miss Scott herself, he had more questions than answers, but where to begin now that she was all but a captive audience?
He turned the name about in his mind, round and round. Though he had borne it for three decades, it did not fit right on his shoulders, altogether alien to the man—if he could be considered that—that had become Cyrus Westerman. Ephraim Belby had been a devoted husband, a doting father, and a wizard with a strong proficiency in the healing arts, one who held his head high in all matters and was cautiously optimistic about each new dawning day. Which of those traits could the Westerman boast as anything more than a shadow of what they had once been?
No, Cyrus Westerman was a pining ex- husband, a distant father, and fully a wizard no more (though, admittedly, still a healer). He lurked on the periphery of day to day life for fear he would be recognized for what he was, and saw each day as yet another obstacle to overcome. It was, frankly, a sign of cowardice that he still stood breathing at all.
The later could not be reconciled with the former.
"It's Westerman, now," he answered her, tone devoid of emotion, his shrug tasked with—and failing at—conveying all he did not say. About Miss Scott herself, he had more questions than answers, but where to begin now that she was all but a captive audience?
— MJ is pretty nifty @ graphics, if I do say so myself! —