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Shalidor had offered me eternal life. I said no, of course. How could he have spent a winter with me, talking so closely, and know me so little?
We argued at length about his methods. "Eternal life," I said. "All the time to travel by foot and see the world, and yet you use portals to bypass what wonders you might find along the way?"
"A mortal life," he would argue back. "Your accomplishments constrained only by time, and you would spend it plodding from place to place, one foot in front of the other?"
We had agreed to disagree. I made it clear: immortality was anathema to me. I would not prolong my life any more than I would want to prolong summer to stave off winter. The beauty in seasons is always in their passing.
I marveled at the idea that he could convince me of this thing, to change me in so short a time. I had never been in love before, you see. I had not yet not realized the myriad ways in which such a thing can change a person.
I refused him on no uncertain terms. And that was the last I saw of Shalidor for some time.
It took several years passing before I came to terms with how I felt about that funny old man. It makes me laugh to look back and wonder how it took me so long. He was constantly on my mind! But Shalidor arguing theory with me in my head was a poor substitute for the real thing. And he conceded far too often, too easily to my superior reasoning. I needed to see him again.
I thought of him in Summerset on Eyevea, that little island sanctuary he told me about. I bartered for maps of the region, the best I could find. And I taught myself portal magic. It did not come easy to me, and had I not missed him so terribly, I would never have persisted as I did. When at last I could wait no longer, I focused my magic and opened a portal to Eyevea.