‘This cave . . . you must live here with others. Where are they?’ In fact, they hadn’t seen another living soul since arriving.
Iniiq gave him a sharp look that was knowing, and somehow both direct and evasive. ‘They are safe. That is enough for you to know about us.’
Mraan was tempted to challenge her answer, but reminded himself that she had saved their lives, and therefore deserved his respect, at least on that account.
Iniiq tested the contents of the pot, and was apparently satisfied. ‘Here, is ready. You like?’
With a nod, Mraan accepted from her a wooden bowl full of hot, thick stew.
‘Elder, here is food, if you like,’ she said to Haloch, voice raised to get his attention.
Haloch didn’t move.
‘Father!’
Haloch started out of his reverie.
‘What? My apologies . . . I have been daydreaming.’ He smiled sheepishly, and stiffly moved to join them, leaving the book on a nearby table. When Iniiq handed him a wooden bowl and spoon, he bowed to her, causing her to smile, and seated himself. The three of them sat around the open-pit cooking fire, Iniiq and Mraan on straw mats, and Haloch on a wooden stool. The elderly Scribe stretched his long legs out, gratefully soaking up the fire’s warmth through the soles of his feet.