“What were you… doing?” When he looks at me questioningly, I scowl. “You would not… speak.” I point to my eyes. “Black.” “It is of the draoi.” He says it firmly. “It is sacred. Not for your knowledge.” Draoi. I dredge the vaguely familiar word from my time in Letens’s Bibliotheca. What the druids of the area called themselves, before they were wiped out.
