The traveler slowly trudged up the dirt road. He was dirty, and dusty, and his shoulders were hunched close to his body. But still he marched on, towards the house were his hearts desired lived.

Meggie sighed, and pushed her long blond hair out from her face. She was stuck at home. Lately she was stuck at home more and more often. Doria was away on another great invention's show.

In the beginning, it had been perfect, just like Fenoglio had written. She gave him ideas, and he loved her unconditionally. But this loving unconditionally was more wearing than a thousand fights. There was no spark to his love, no flaming passion. Just devotion.

She wasn't exactly sure when they'd started to drift apart. It was just little things first. He didn't kiss her first thing in the morning anymore. Then, like magic, there were two twin beds instead of the double they'd shared. He started traveling more. She wouldn't seem him for months on end, and when he came back he was always even farther away.

She started idly cleaning a desk she'd wiped a dozen times before. It was her writing desk, the one thing that wasn't pervaded by him. He would never come into her office, and lately she'd stopped going to his. He didn't approve of her writing. He never believed her when she told him how she'd come to the Inkworld. He was almost relieved when Fenoglio died.

Lately, Meggie had been having dreams about the boy she'd left behind. For ten years she was sure she'd made the right choice. Now, she wasn't so certain. She dreamt about him still, the quicksilver boy who'd claimed her heart. He kissed different than Doria. Stronger, and more assured. She'd always found his cockiness annoying, but it was better than Doria, who seemed to ask her permission every time they kissed.

But she'd made her decision, and she'd stick with it. It wouldn't have worked, anyway. He would have always loved Dustfinger more than he loved her. Then again, he hadn't seen his old teacher in ten years either.

She loved Doria; she knew that. And what she'd felt for Farid had been nothing more than a passing infatuation.

She was absolutely certain about her mind and heart for all of two minutes, when the doorbell rang.

When Meggie first answered the door, Farid wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around her and hold her forever. She looked a bit like Resa, but softer and, in his opinion, prettier. No, not pretty: beautiful. His angel.

While he'd been wandering all the long years, he'd thought a lot over what he'd done. He hated himself sometimes, for all the pain he'd caused her. His obsession with bringing Dustfinger back had hurt both of them. And Dustfinger was back now. But the thing he'd felt the most shame over was how he'd flirted and kissed with all those girls, for fun or for information, while she'd sat alone, faithfully waiting for him. Yes, he did hate himself.

Meggie was absolutely shocked. He looked so different, and exactly the same. Sadder, but stronger. For a second, she felt as weak as a kitten. She just wanted to fling herself at him, and beg him to love her. But then she remembered all he'd done. For a minute, they both stood, immersed in their own memories, thinking about the exact same things, and not knowing it. But at the end, they both same to the same conclusion: they hated him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" said Meggie. She didn't care if they'd parted on reasonably friendly terms; he had no right to show up now!

"I wanted to see you," he said softly.

"Well, come in, if you must," she said rudely. She sounded like Elinor, but she didn't care. She turned swiftly on her heel, and strode down the corridor. Farid followed meekly.

'He's gotten a lot less cocky,' she observed. 'Before, he would have walked right in and kissed me. Hmmm, that might not have been so bad . . .' she immediately scolded herself, and resumed thinking about all the horrible things he'd done to her.

He observed her house. It was beautiful. Strange things spun form the ceiling, some whose purpose was obvious, others that seemed nothing more than ornamental. Pictures lined the walls, some canvas, others photos. She'd apparently told her husband about cameras. There was a picture of Roxane, spinning and laughing, staring at someone out of view. Her parents, with a little baby, then later on with a child of about five. Fenoglio, sitting at his desk, writing. And there was Dustfinger. He stopped short in the corridor. He was blowing fire in a palace, with the flames forming beautiful shapes above him.

Meggie noticed him pausing and backpedaled to see what had caught his attention. "Oh, yes, that was when Viola remarried," she said, her heart melting a little when she saw how much he'd missed Dustfinger. "She asked him especially to perform," she added, hoping that would brighten him up even further.

It did. He turned to her with the smile that she'd missed so much, the one that still made her heart ache. "I was so worried that something had happened to him!" he said, relief evident in his voice.

"Haven't you gone to see him yet?" she asked, puzzled. He'd always loved the fire dancer more than her.

"No," Farid said shaking his head. "I came straight here."

Her heart lurched a little. To cover it up, she led him to another photo. "Here," she said, smiling ever so slightly. "I think you'll like this."

There was Dustfinger again, this time with Roxane. They were holding two small bundles and smiling beatifically.

Farid was puzzled. Why were they holding loaves of bread?

Meggie decided to elaborate, seeing the confusion on his face. "About five years after you left, Roxane got pregnant again. This one," she said, pointing to the pink bundle on the left, which Farid realized was a baby "Is named Aesudio. They had twins, a boy and a girl. The boy's name is Farid," the ghost of a smile on her face breaking into a full blown grin. "Dustfinger told Roxane that he would now actually have a son named Farid, and she finally agreed that, although he's like a father to you, you two are not actually related. Mo and Resa were named godparents."

He stared at the photo with a mixture of joy, and an overwhelming feeling of loss. So much he'd missed while he was away. But he was going to but it all to rights, starting with the girl he'd never stopped loving.