Over breakfast next morning, he was gloomy, indifferent to the smell of Barrith’s warm nut bread. The fact that he wasn’t throwing it around the room Irenya took as a hopeful sign. When Leachim and Aeryl arrived, Mikey didn’t acknowledge them. Aeryl rested her hand lightly on Irenya’s. Leachim pulled up a spare chair and talked to him in his storyteller’s voice. He talked about the gardens, the mountains, the ridge where the view down the valley was spectacular, about the blacksmith’s fire, Alara’s upset tummy, and the way they had missed him at dinner last night—all without a single response. Leachim talked about the session the previous morning.
‘Truth is, Mikey, we need you.’
‘Piss off! Find some other idiot.’
‘There is no one else. You are the one. Without you, we are lost.’
‘Good!
