"Jeremiah the bullfrog?" Audrey asked, confused. Then she remembered "Joy to the World," her favorite dish-scrubbing song, and laughed. The stranger was still looking at her with that serious expression, and she stifled her giggling, afraid he might think she was mocking him.
"I honestly haven't got the foggiest idea who Jeremiah the bullfrog was," she answered, coming fully into the bedroom and taking her seat in the chair next to his bed. "And I don't have a clue who you are, either."
"Well, that makes two of us," said the man gruffly, his brow furrowed. "Where am I?"
"You're in the Calla, on the edge of Mid-World," she replied. "My name is Audrey Moran. I've been caring for you. You've been dead to the world for about two weeks now."
"Calla Bryn-Sturgis?" asked Roland, his blue eyes searching Audrey's face.
"No, we're further east than that," she answered. "This is Calla Uhl-Chamot. Bryn-Sturgis is several dozen wheels away."
Roland nodded, his gaze not wavering. He reached up and rubbed his aching head again. What he wouldn't give for a bottle of Eddie's astin…
"Are you feeling alright?" asked Audrey, worry etched on her face. "What can I do to help?"
"Water," he said, finally looking away. "I'd like to wet my throat." He turned his appraising gaze on the rest of the room as Audrey left the room to get his drink. There was the rocking chair with the knitting basket and the quilt, and there was the rug by the hearth, in which a fire was burning bright, warming and illuminating the tiny bedroom.
Roland looked down at himself. He was tucked in under several layers of blankets and quilts, but he could tell he had no clothing on underneath the covers. His hair had grown long, falling just past his shoulders, but it felt clean and dry, and his face was clean-shaven and smooth. This woman, whoever she was, had taken care of him down to the last detail.
Audrey came back into the room, carrying a tin cup filled to the brim with cool water and a heavy white pitcher, also full. She handed the cup to Roland, who drained it without hesitation. He handed it back, and Audrey refilled it.
After his third cup, Audrey set the pitcher and cup on the bedside table.
"You don't want to drink too much too fast," she said, "or you'll make yourself sick."
"How did I get here, Audrey? Tell me, I beg."
"You staggered into the front yard sixteen days ago, just before the snowstorm hit. Sam- that's the dog- he found you and came to the barn to get me, and I brought you inside. You were half-frozen."
And raving like mad about some tower and a man called Walter O'Dim, she thought to herself, but chose not to add out loud.
"What's your name?" she asked him. He cleared his throat and looked up at her.
"Roland. Roland Deschain, of Gilead."
Audrey gasped. How many times had she heard the story since arriving in this strange world? This man and his band of gunslingers had saved the children of the Callas! Surely this was not the same man... It couldn't be!
"Roland of Gilead?" Audrey asked, shocked. "The Roland of Gilead? The gunslinger that defeated the monsters that had been raiding the villages and destroying the children? Who traveled into Thunderclap to save the Beams?"
"The same," grunted Roland. "Along with my friends Eddie and Susannah and…" his voice trailed off, and he looked away.
"And Jake! And there was a billybumbler, as well, right? Named Oy?"
"Aye, you say true." This young woman could not possibly imagine how hard it was to hear the boy's name thrown out so casually. A lump was threatening to form in Roland's throat. He swallowed hard, hoping to keep it at bay.
"But that's just not possible!" Audrey exclaimed, shaking her head. "You can't be the same man."
"I assure you," said the gunslinger gruffly, "I am. What makes that so hard to believe?"
"Because…" began Audrey, her voice shaking slightly. She took a deep breath. "Because, the day the wolves were killed… it…"
"What is it?"
"Well, it happened over a century ago…"
