Zerio nodded and followed him. By the time the first village door opened, they had through the wide pastures of wooly cattle and shaggy goats and ducked into the cover of the towering, tightly packed, conifer forest where the morning’s temperature was noticeably cooler. He did not dare speak; he could not deny the sensation that the path they followed was a holy one, if for no other reason than it was part of a rich history that he was about to witness for the first time.
Claes-Arne had taught him well when to be still and when to speak. Breaking the silence here, interrupting Kavan’s obvious concentration on something that Zerio could neither see nor hear, would have been a violation of everything the Vants stood for.
He wished Claes-Arne was walking this path with him.