The memory comes easily to Inric's mind. A green, grassy hill covered with memorial stones, and one in particular to which he had come, so recently after the end of the war that he had still been using crutches. But he hadn't wanted to wait. And then a voice, harsh with grief and anger. "You are of the wrong clan to be paying tribute at this grave." Now, deliberately calm, he speaks the expected words. "I am Invarioneth Sey-Jiyaranis of the Seth-Varouin clan, a scholar-mage of the Great Library. Should you wish assistance with your research, you may ask without obligation." He needn't have bothered with the pretence. She moves closer, looking up at him. "I recognise you."