‘But,’ persisted Haloch, unwilling to place his trust in the hands of an Imp, ‘how do we know that we can trust you?’
There were angry words on the tip of the Imp’s tongue, but she swallowed them harshly. Setting her jaw, she returned down the path, taking an object from her raiment, and handing it to the older Elf. ‘You may hold this as a token of trust. It was very precious to the Water Nymphs who once possessed it. They are gone now, those who owned it, to the last Elder and child.’
Haloch could only stare at the beautiful thing she placed in his hand. ‘An Ulssar Stone!’ Looking it over, he muttered, ‘I sense that it had been damaged. But-’ Then, comprehension set in, and he raised his eyes, staring long into those of the Imp. ‘I trust you,’ he said in a voice hoarse with grief, and handed her back the stone. ‘Someone must have paid with her life to heal this thing.’
The hand that accepted the stone from him trembled, and not out of fear. But she mastered the pain of her loss, a fact that did not go unnoticed by Haloch, and led them onward.
As they drew near to the hill from the southwest, Deborah’s eyes were drawn more and more often to the face of Pran. There were undercurrents of tension in his countenance, and foremost amongst them she thought she could detect a growing sense of dread. When they finally stopped once more, she had to ask him, had to know.