[How long has it been, since he stood inside the boundaries of a modern urban landscape, the pollution and the plaster and all the sights and sounds and smells of human progress, human destruction, a fingerprint in time that left a mark, like the lingering of tobacco in the back walkways of an old motel.

He drifts to his Sage's side with a gentle touch to his arm and a nod to the side.]

Nostalgia hits hard, doesn't it?

Stay alert, my Sage. We have company. [A polite request. He's not going to barge into the memory of a dying man without his proper consent.] Who is that standing next to you, over there?