Friend continues to walk through the desert and stare at the grooves in the sand. Nothing else to do. No games to play with no company to play with. The desert wasn't so pretty here in the maze anymore. He missed his friend Roderick. What was there on earth to do now?
For the first time perhaps ever, he realizes, a fool contemplates destiny, standing in the sun upon a boulder in the shade of a canyon. For the first time perhaps ever, a fool is solumn.
Friend continues to walk through the desert and stare at the grooves in the sand. A fool no more.
---
Days later he happens to catch up to a wandering soldier, the puppeteer of the strange men. He wears the beginnings of a white beard, and his dust-filmed uniform's coat is slung over his shoulder as he marches onward.
"Where are you going to, might I ask?" Friend asks as he tugs on the man's belt line.
"To a perfect world... wherever it may be." His eyes are shut.
"A strange way to get there, might I say."
The man kneels down, opens his eyes and looks up at the humanoid's face: "I can take myself to any world, all I need to do is but imagine... but I may only go to one more place... and they I may never, ever go anywhere again. My travels will be over."
He stands up, and nobly looks down at the creature. "I remember you. You seemed a loyal thing. You may... come with me."
Charlemagne is worried, truth be told. For the first time he is depending on the company of another for protection. All his powers are spent, all but two. The rest he has lent to soldiers on the field of battle, in return for their autonomy, their souls, while the others have been wasted away. His gifts are no more. He has one shot to imagine himself into paradise, and to decide what that paradice is. The final gift? Nobody may know for certain.
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