It was a voice like a wind whispering in pines. It soughed across the room, making the man turn lazily in his slumber, uneasy.
"Kortha, speak to me. Tell me of yourself. Who are you, Kortha?"
The man slept, but his lips spoke, sighing, "I am Kortha the strong. The hard, the cruel."
"Ahhh, no. You must forget that, Kortha. True, you are heavily muscled, but so are many men."
"I crippled Hurlgut my best friend, in a fit of rage. I am not to be trusted. My temper is the red heart of the living volcano. It can spew destruction."
"Forget that you are Kortha. He never existed. You are not that Kortha, but another. Tell me about this best friend, Kortha. Tell me. Tell me."
Kortha whispered the tale, shuddering even as he slept.
The voice spoke to him, and its softness was the purl of a wave lapping at the shore.
"You are wrong. It happened thus—"
Kortha half-rose, listening, though his eyes were closed and his breath came evenly.