[ That look of concern does not escape Zephirin's notice. It surprises him — surely Lord Francel himself wishes to have his amnesiac guest out of his hair sooner rather than later, that his days might resume their usual course — and his eyes rest on Francel's troubled features for a time, searching them quizzically. His hands are still, the remainder of his breakfast uneaten.

Haurchefant is a name he has heard uttered but once or twice. It rings not the faintest bell, and Zephirin takes care not to pry, having noted the odd quality to Francel's voice. He knows enough, by now, to piece together his assumptions as to this Haurchefant's identity. ]

I doubt that we knew each other, [ he offers, though Francel leaves his musings unfinished. ] After all, you and I met for the first time when you came upon me a fortnight ago. Nevertheless, I admit to hoping that Camp Dragonhead will prove a lead.