He was silent as they walked. He stole occasional glances at her, wondering. Somehow, the death and resurrection of Torl provided a key. His brain was swamped with conjecture.
They left the village and climbed the hill. He had meant to sit with Tsu and Smarin, to share their grief a while this morning, if they would let him. Why he walked now, he could not say, save that his brain was in a whirl. And Tsu accompanied him gaily, chattering nonsense about the death of her mother.
He stopped, looked at the village below. While they were here, he would ask Tsu for information about who lived where. He had already sketched the village from his tent. He would write in the information as an addition to his notes.
A thought struck him. Why label the props on the stage set? Labels meant nothing ... unless you could see the set from the wings. It would help, if he could do that.
"Let's sit here, Tsu," he said.
She sat, obediently, among the tall grasses, folding slim, long legs under her like a child. He sat at her side, noting with relief that a slight hump in the slope hid the village from sight. He took her hand in his.
"I have thought of something," he said carefully. "Tell me about the children. Let's take Yanek ... is that his name? He lives in the house next to you. How old is he?"
She regarded him from the corners of her long eyes.
"Old? Yanek is as old as a child. He is as old as he is."