Alain looks at the screen with a faint flicker of recognition - he's seen things like that before, though most of them barely functional and long-defunct, and he can at least see what it's for. But what she says snaps his attention back to her. He feels something like hope rising in his breast, and hates it, because he knows the chances are it's a false hope altogether.

"The man I'm looking for," he starts, and bites his lip, running one hand back through his hair. "You'd know him if you saw him. He's very tall, very thin. Dark hair, dark skin, pale eyes. About my age, though he carries himself like one older. Deschain. Roland Deschain." His eyes search hers, and he swallows. "That isn't him, I suppose?"