When Pan came back to the goblin inn, with the leftovers from Sylvan's cooking, he had a smile on his face. He could still feel his grandmother's mana around him. Her kind warmth, the promise that she was smiling.
"Uncle Pan!" Michael's hug was like a balm to Pan. There was one person who he wouldn't have to convince that he was ready to turn a new leaf.
"Pan," Brandon did not come to him. He stood there, at the doorstep. His brown hair a mess, circles under his eyes.
"Brandon," Pan said, as he laid a hand on Michael's shoulder. "They are alive!"
Brandon blinked, not knowing about whom Pan spoke. Still, he made a step forward.
"My grandmother and grandfather. They are in a tree! They are alive!" Pan said, as he led Michael to Brandon. "I want to make them proud."
Brandon blinked, but he still closed the distance.
"Proud how?" Brandon asked. He could not feel the stench of rotting flesh from Pan anymore. But Solas had taught him that words were worth less than wind.
