He gave the only reply he could.
“I am Vanamonde.”
There came a pause (how long the pattern of their thoughts took to form!) and then the question was repeated. They had not understood: that was strange, for surely their kind had given him his name for it to be among the memories of his birth. Those memories were very few, and they began strangely at a single point in time, but they were crystal-clear.
Again their tiny thoughts struggled up into his consciousness.
“Who were the Great Ones-are you one of them yourself?”
He did not know: they could scarcely believe him, and their disappointment came sharp and clear across the abyss separating their minds from his. But they were patient and he was glad to help them, for their quest was the same as his and they gave him the first companionship he had ever known.
As long as he lived, Alvin did not believe he would ever again undergo so strange an experience as this soundless conversation. It was hard to believe that he could be little more than a spectator, for he did not care to admit, even to himself, that Theon’s mind was so much more powerful than his own. He could only wait and wonder, half dazed by the torrent of thought just beyond the limits of his understanding.
Presently Theon, rather pale and strained, broke off the contact and turned to his friend.
“Alvin,” he said, his voice very tired, “there’s something strange here. I don’t understand it at all.”
The news did a little to restore Alvin’s self-esteem, and his face must have shown his feelings, for Theon gave a sudden, not unsympathetic laugh.