Fatigue eventually claimed Tàvae, and she was curled in a deep sleep when Kengar returned. Origins lay beside her on the night table.
__He lifted the book and opened it; he admired the artistry of the borders, glad that the written form of Gaeilge was a mystery to him. He had no desire to access its contents.
Tàvae woke at his presence, holding her eyes closed to collect her thoughts. It was safe; wrapped, hidden, all other evidence removed. Deliberate decoys set up.
__Kengar knew she had woken by her change in breath. He announced: ‘She desires to speak to you.’
__Tàvae opened her eyes.
__ ‘She means you no harm.’
__Tàvae sat up, looking at the book in his hands. ‘I am sure she does. Perhaps she mistook which text I took—this is simply a history of weaving. Interesting, but hardly dangerous.’ __Quell your fear; wear the lie to your bones. Else she will smell it.
__‘She wants you to return it, and to speak to you. Please get ready.’