Slowly, and with considerable deliberation, it seemed the dragonless man had come to agreement with her. "I can do that."
A gentle, and hopefully not noticed, exhale of relief escaped the baker. She could tell the man needed help, and it seemed important to do everything she could to offer him a hand.
"You can let him know when its most convenient for you."
"I'll send him a message as soon as I finish my rounds,"
she assured him. Amuderudalya would keep her promise and she would write her note, but for now, she realised she needed to return to work and feed the rest of the eager mouths around them. "I'll check on you soon, and hopefully with word from Ambrosius. Don't worry. We'll take care of you and keep you safe-"
even if that meant keeping him safe from himself.
They would find him a home, one that was the best of both worlds, close to his family, yet far enough from the presence of dragons.
And then it dawned on her, just before she left. "You know, I just realised, I never asked for your name,"
she smiled, realising they had worked so fast to find a viable solution to him. "I'm Amuderudalya, but please, call me Dalya."
After she heard his name, she bid him farewell with the promise upon Croquembouche's shell to return with not only word from Ambrosius, but a day to convene with him.
The days would pass, but Amuderudalya did keep her word, and half a week later, at the time and date promised, Ambrosius appeared at the mouth of the weyr on Purefoy, and with a second tacked up runnerbeast trailing behind him. Along side the man with his runner was a black and white canine who ran ahead, sniffing at the ground here and there before dashing off, and always did the canine keep out of the way of the runners. In the skies, swooped about an emerald fancy flit who kept close to the runners.
Upon closer approach, Ambrosius came into full view. While the man appeared fair with his shock of flaxen hair and his pale complexion, there was something distinctly unhealthy about his appearance from his sunken cheeks to his hollow soul. The sorrow in his eyes reflected Judarek's own, though it had aged over the last turn, giving Ambrosius a chance to find his pace with the world again without Bowith.
"Are you Judarek?"
he asked of the man.