Troa bristled, as Einarr knew he would. “Now look here —”
“The longer this takes, the farther ahead she gets. You’re a scout, I’m not. So prove you’re as good a scout as Sivid is a thief and open a door.”
Troa clamped his jaw shut, grinding his teeth, and thrust the charcoal at Einarr.
The rune was already starting to give Einarr a headache: he set about marking the doors as quickly as he could. Then he finally allowed himself to shift his focus away from all the details he would ordinarily pass over. One more thing to do. “Hand me your knife.”
“What in blazes do you want that for?”
“You want light or not?” He’d gotten a little better at controlling how bright the sun rune was since last fall.
“Ah.” Rather than draw his knife, Troa thrust out his off-hand. “Draw it there, instead. Easier to…
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