Chapter 7
Hawklan was gone. Off on his strange pilgrimage to the Gretmearc. It thus fell to Tirilen to repair her uncle.
Isloman had spent the whole day in a towering fury — his hand gashed by his new chisel and, worse, far worse, his precious, long sought rock tortured by the rending scar the chisel had made when it slipped from his hand.
‘Months this rock and I have searched for one another,’ he fumed, as Tirilen treated and bound up his bleeding hand. ‘And for this to happen. To me of all people.’ He leaned forward and put his head in his hands in distress.
Tirilen had been businesslike in treating the hand, although the cut had an unpleasant quality about it, but she was at a loss to contend with this uncharacteristic outburst, following as it did his equally uncharacteristic rage.
