He could see the old wizard now. Only he was no longer old. He was ageless and timeless, as was the remote place they now stood, standing and facing one another. All was light and wonder . . . what he saw was vast and beautiful and perilous . . . more real than the real world . . . more potent . . . more substantial.
He felt the danger, then. The risk of losing himself entirely.
At the same instant, there was a silent signal from Belloc to withdraw, and he did so, feeling as one does who has just made a perilous leap, and stands for a moment, regaining his balance, wondering if he has truly landed safely. For even a drowning swimmer with land within reach may yet be exposed to further peril, unexpected and unforseen.
Belloc appeared before him again, staff across his knees. Younger and more vital he appeared! A wisp of smoke curled from the heel of his staff. The eyes of the Vhurd-aq faded and were quiet once more.
Anest considered his own staff in wonder, for it remained transparent and heavy. Even as he watched it became lighter, yet more solid . . . substantial . . . until at last it appeared as before, a carved staff of black oak, shod and banded with bronze. It no longer felt awkward or unwieldy, but ready to his hand, an extension of himself.