Arriving at Gryss’s cottage he was greeted first by his father, who opened the door and looked pleasantly surprised to see him, and then by a belated and indifferent bark from Gryss’s old dog.
‘It’s Farnor,’ Garren said, as he entered the back room with his son. Gryss, seated in a large wicker chair, smiled and raised a hand in greeting.
‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t stand, Farnor,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid I did rather too much yesterday and my legs aren’t what they were.’ He motioned the new arrival to a chair facing him across the empty fireplace. Garren sat down at the long wooden table on which were some papers and an open box containing various writing materials. He picked up a long pen and carefully wiped the nib on a cloth. Then, to complete the ensemble, the old dog entered and lumb
