“Tand said. “I don’t like it.” The elder Hald walked a space with his grandnephew, paused to pull a dead bloom from the nightflower. Neighbouring leaves shrank at the touch and remained furled a moment, then relaxed. “Something concrete?” “Hive-reports. Stacks of them. Statistics. She may be aiming something at Thon. I don’t know. I can’t determine.” The elder looked about at Tand, his heart labouring with the heavy persistence of dread. Tand was outside the informed circles of the m...ovement. There were many things of which Tand remained ignorant: must. Where Tand stood, it was not good that he know…near as he was to the old woman’s hand. If the blow fell, all that he knew could be in Moth’s hands in hours. “What kind of statistics? Involving azi?” “Among others. She’s asking for more data on Istra. She’s…amused by the Meth-maren. So she gives out. But here’s the matter: she muttered something after the committee left.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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