‘Isn’t he home, yet?’ Glidd asked, knowing by her expression that he was not.
She said nothing, but looked at him with terrible eyes and then she turned from him and ran back to the house, going straight inside and shutting the door.
‘Firilla!’ he called, his heart aching with sympathy for her. Exhausted as he was, he forced himself the last few paces to the house and put his hand to the door. It was not locked. ‘Firilla,’ he said gently, ‘I didn’t find him dead.’
But she would not look at him.
‘Firilla, he will be back soon. I’m sure of it.’
But still she did not speak or turn to him. It was as though the woman he had known so long and loved so well had left, and only the shell of her body remained.
The mountain that had been so full of noise when the storm raged was deathly silent
