His camp is near enough to foot traffic in and out of the village that the sound of someone approaching him through the autumn foliage doesn’t immediately cause Tuo to look up from his work. It’s only when Alvi rustles his feathers and lets out a questioning ‘caw’ to his right that he glances to the side, and discovers that the passer-by is in fact a visitor.

He notices the blindfold and guide stick first, and then a priest’s cassock, but then:

“Tuo...? Is it really you?”

Now that is a familiar form of address, out of place among the usual greetings he receives from these villagers after being out of their company for some time. Tuo allows himself to smile and make an artless gesture with one hand, before recognizing the futility of both, and then instead takes a few deer-like steps towards his guest through the foliage. “You sound as though you scarce believe it, my friend,” he replies, allowing his voice to carry across the space between them, and adds wryly, “Should I be wary of selkies in the river bed, as well as ghosts in the woods?”

Yet the closer he comes, the better his eyes can take in his visitor, and at last he slows to a stop, startled into silence. No, it couldn’t be him—and yet enough years have come and gone for a little boy from a little village to grow into a man, and for that man to experience all manner of tragedies. “...Vervain Gardener,” he says aloud, wonderingly.