Now that he'd adjusted to the unexpected change in his surroundings, Rowan could see that unlike his garden or the shrine that Wren had created to be indistinguishable from the real thing, that wasn't the case here.
Although the street and shops closest to him were clear and crisp in their details, from the pattern of the bricks paving the road under his boots to the assortment of glassware for sale in a window nearby, they only stayed that way as long as Rowan was looking at them. As soon as his eyes moved away, the details blurred, as if his attention was the only thing making them real to begin with.
Rowan stopped trying to tack down the unnecessary details and focused on the tavern door, anchoring the building in place with his desire for it to be there.
Everything else could fade away. As long as the brandy behind the bar inside was real enough to swallow and strong enough to dull the icy pain of the poison as it burrowed through his bones, that was enough for him.
