deeds of nhalbar. pirin. new ed. (le). vol. 3

Nhalbar, on the other side of the rusty bars, also visibly contrasted with that dark scenery. Sitting cross-legged, his eyes closed and hands clasped in prayer, with his snow-white hair and white robe trimmed with shining gold, he emanated so much radiance that he looked like a full moon in the dark womb of the firmament. She replied before even opening her eyes to meet those of the ruler, "You call me that, but the White Thief is only one of the masks I have worn. Just one of the names that have been sewn onto me. Before that I was called prince. Now they call me a druid, but on one occasion I even passed myself off as an embalmer. Who am I really, though?" 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?" asked the other vaguely troubled by that mystery. "That is the wrong question, sire. Do not be misled by who I am, but seek to understand in whose name I have come. For I come not for myself but on behalf of another."