"Tele-fishon?" The word means nothing to him, a man who comes from a world of horses and candles and only perished remnants of technology. He blinks at it, rubbing his hand over his mouth and closing his eyes. "They won't carry it back for me, then?" he says after a moment, his voice low and broken. "I don't need to go back myself. If they would only send it, let Roland know..."

There isn't a great deal of hope in his voice, not after what she's said. But he has to try. If this was his last mission - and he's afraid, no matter what comes next, that it was; he could feel that growing sense of doom the whole time he was riding back with the message - then he has to at least complete it. He has to. Failure can't be an option. Too much depends on him.