He was twenty-seven years old, long past the age when many people settle down, and he was alone. Again, it was partly the result of the choices he’d made. He wasn’t altogether certain that the path he’d chosen to walk was wide enough for two. The life of a shaman was often a solitary one. He had no one to come home to, and he might never have, because, as he’d already realized earlier tonight, he might never have a real home.

That thought kept him company as he made his way through the quiet streets of Oberon. But when he reached his destination, he let it go. What did it matter? He wasn’t looking to find his life partner tonight. The restlessness that had brought him here was of a far more transitory nature.

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