His questions were answered as he looked out onto the clearing where the Elves had killed Hanae and the runners. He watched from the edge of the trees, the leaves shadowing his position and the bushes screening him. The scene had an unreal quality, a dreamlike distance as though it were continually receding at his approach. Everything was gilded with a faint, silvery light, yet the moon was cloud-hidden at the moment. A band of Elves roamed amid the ruins of two strangely insubstantial Caravaners, one of them still burning. All but one of the Elves wore uniforms bearing badges whose symbols spoke of protection and guardianship. Sam surmised that they were Tir Tairngire border guards. The Elf not in uniform stood apart from the searchers. Dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, he seemed to radiate power. He was familiar somehow, and Sam concluded that this must be the Elven mage that the radio voice had named Rory. Other than these seven Elves, Sam detected no other living persons in the area.