As is the way of dreams, there is no clear moment of distinction between Atticus' absence and his presence; he is merely there walking at her side, though his identity is carefully shrouded. A black dragon skull helm obscures his face; the robes that cloak him ripple with each step across the ice.

This is not the landscape he had expected to bear witness to upon entering her sleeping mind, and for a time it gives him pause, time which he passes by keeping pace with her, a silent companion. Then:

"Where are you going?"