Serrin and Kristen were just tumbling out of the terminal, as disorganized as ever, when Geraint climbed out of the limo blinking in the afternoon sunlight like a surprised owl. The dark-skinned woman gave him her big, wide smile and a ferocious hug, immersing him in the scent of sandalwood and frankincense and warm wool. Behind her, the gray-haired elf looked healthier than Geraint remembered him. He still walked with the slight limp from an injury that had shattered his left leg, but when Serrin shook Geraint’s hand, the old tremor seemed to have gone and his grip was firm, his gaze steady.