For as nervous as Einarr had been about the answer to his father’s question, he felt no trepidation at all on the matter of his own.
The Oracle, too, seemed less reluctant before his question than she had before Stigander’s, spending less time than she had for anyone save Arring reviewing her materials. She turned to look expectantly at him.
“My lady Oracle, how might I best win over the father of my beloved without betraying my own family?”
She nodded: it was, more or less, the question he was sure she’d expected. With a graceful efficiency the Oracle turned to her loom and began to spin.
As the hours passed, he found he was just as perplexed as to the meaning of his weaving as to Stigander’s, though for entirely different reasons. Images abounded, but while they all connected to him they did not seem to connect to one…
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