The valley, however, was a brief interlude in what was proving, as expected, to be a relentless and hard journey. Tentatively, Tirke began to grumble. He wished it weren’t so hot — or so cold. He fidgeted with his various jackets and tunics — took his gloves off — put them back on — wished the wind wouldn’t blow in his face — or down his ear — wished there weren’t so many flies — wished they were back in the valley — or in Orthlund — wished...
Dacu had learnt early in their journey that this weed was well-rooted in Tirke’s personality, and he took the opportunity to grind a ruthless heel into it before it could blossom fully.
‘I’ve told you once, Tirke,’ he said, quietly, but very resolutely. ‘Don’t speak if you’ve nothing to contribute. The rule is, if you don’t like something, change i
