Chapter 22
‘It’s okay, Dallmin,’ Tessa assured him. ‘It can’t have been written by anyone you know. That collection is over four thousand years old.’
‘No mistake,’ he insisted. ‘This is my daughter’s record of her time here.’
‘Your daughter?’ Noah spluttered.
‘Four thousand years?’ Mick asked.
But there was no point trying to ask him any questions until he’d calmed down. Sorrow had tied his tongue.
Looking around, I knew I wasn’t the only one who felt like my head was about to explode from curiosity. Just how old was he? We made him a cup of tea, which he was too upset to drink. After a few minutes, he resolutely picked up a pencil and paper and began to translate what he’d found. In the half hour it took him to finish, none of us were willing to leave. As soon as he was done he hand
