Between them and the border, however, were very officious looking customs officers and armed guards who were meticulously discomfiting all those ahead...of them in the queue. Already, a couple had been rudely pushed to one side, and stood helplessly by in the midday sun attended by an armed guard. Their baggage was separated from them, perhaps forever, and the young woman was sobbing while her boyfriend comforted her with an arm around her shoulders.The border officials examined every passport. "I cannot be in two places at once, Verothlen. I deem this to be the greater need."Verothlen spoke again, even more softly. "And if there were a way?" Then you should tell me of the way." I would make a matrix of mana, and emplace within it a copy of your memories. It would be a copy of you, Avatharel, down to the least thought, the least memory, the least mannerism. It would enable another to have your skills, most especially your demon fighting skills, your leadership, and your. It had begun when he asked about her husband. What line of work was he in? Oh, he traveled a lot? Was he away now? Did she feel lonely sometimes? Before long, he had mentioned their little Murakami joke and then they were talking about something that had nothing to do with art exhibitions. Today, she would say, their conversation had been fifty percent work-related and fifty percent flirtatious.This was going to be tricky, she knew. She feared neither of them would be strong enough to resist. “Sit down,” he said, gesturing to his bunk, and use the ointment sparingly. Both nervous and confident at the same time, Tink sat upon the Captains bed and opened the jar. The ointment had a faint flowery smell. Hook crossed the room and returned with his oaken chair. He placed the chair opposite her and sat, placing his boots boldly on the bedrails. Clearly, Hook meant to witness Tink’s application of the soothing pomade to her aching body. Shyly, she dabbed into the jar and brought her hand.