The room is new but the shape of it, the dark wood and hanging decorations, is familiar. The large window lets in far more light than usually illuminates Horseriver's room, bringing out shades of color in the smooth wood of the table. It brings out the highlights in Horseriver's tawny hair, too, and gives him a faint nimbus for a moment as he turns away from the window to face the room.

He looks down at himself, smile at its most sardonic. "I suppose it isn't a surprise." He was the one who had chosen that memory to use as an anchor, though he doesn't recognize the clothes. The light touches everything in the room but it can't touch the shadows in eyes that have seen far more centuries than they ever should have.