Sitri had spotted him more than once on the ship, but only in passing, and he had not had the strength of character to approach him then; Sitri was not a coward, and he knew he’d missed him, but he had been held back by some distant fear he didn’t understand. Now, though, thrown back in time as they were, he saw Dumah, Dumah as he remembered him from very long ago, through the trees of Stratus where he’d known to look for him.
Landing had always been a physical act for Sitri, and he dropped to the ground through the tree boughs with a small explosion of leaves, grabbing a branch for leverage and jumping the rest of the way to the ground. Sitri could not move without energy.
“Dumah,” he called out, rushing forward in a flurry of limbs and wings. But it was Du-mah, two syllables full of such reverence, so blantantly joyful, that he might as well have sung them out in the open Heaven air.