I fear I am too broken to help you. There is a long and terrible journey ahead, and if you ask me to go, I will. I fear, though, that I will only be a burden. I am sick and weak, in the body, at least. There is, I suspect, a better way I could help you. If you will let me walk with you a little ways, help me to the next city, I think I can introduce you to a friend who owes me a favor, and he, I think, will not only be a credit to your expedition, but I rather think this is just the sort of adventure in which a man might redeem, if you’ll understand me, his honor. Something tells me, told me, when you said you were off to the isle beyond the sun—well, I do not know why you travel there yourselves, but it is the place, is it not, where people seek a new name, to remember who they were?
The Isle Beyond the Sun
Tale Told 