Nhalbar, too, on the other side of the rusty bars, contrasted visibly with the dark scenery. Sitting cross-legged, eyes closed and hands clasped in prayer, with his candid hair and white dress trimmed with shining gold, he emanated so much light that he looked like a full moon in the dark womb of the firmament. He replied before even opening his eyes to meet those of the sovereign: "You call me that, but the White Thief is only one of the masks I have worn. Just one of the names that stuck around me. Before that I was called prince. They call me a druid now, but I even passed myself off as an embalmer once. But who am I really?" It was with that last question that Nhalbar's intense pupils, framed by blond irises like crowns of sunbeams, planted themselves in the king's soul. "What is your name?" the other asked, vaguely disturbed by that mystery. "That's the wrong question, sir. Do not be misled by who I am, but try to understand in whose name I have come. Because I do not come for myself but on behalf of another".