Rasitlin responds by taking a few hesitant strides forward, faster than he would normally dare. When no tight chest and closing throat follows, he breaks into an awkward sort of half-job, a body that had never walked at faster than a brisk shuffle in its entire adult life straining to accommodate the sudden change. Muscles that haven't woken in years ache and lengthen. And then he's running, in a way he hadn't been able to even as a child, galloping about in an awkward, adolescent stride he's aware must look quite ridiculous.

But it's so easy to move. He feels as if he could do this forever. And then the thought creeps up like bile: this is what it feels like for Caramon, always. Caramon, the strong twin, the one born with all the good looks, while Raistlin got twice the brain. If Caramon had never been born, could he have ended up with Caramon's strength?

( - "It wasn't your fault, Raist," Caramon had told him, afterwards. "It was those mages, they tricked you - " the great oaf, refusing to believe even his own eyes - )

Raistlin stumbles a bit.

:I think I am able to move myself, for the moment. How did you do this?: he thinks to Need, still running.