Grimhold's hand shook. The bone beads on his beard rattled.
He said nothing.
His nails, thick and yellowed, dug into his own palm around the black sphere. A drop of blood, dark, almost black, welled between his fingers and fell. Onto the ash. A single dark drop against the gray.
Grimhold vanished.
Not with words. Not with a farewell. The rift tore open behind him, wider this time, edges ragged, and he stepped backward into it without another sound, his jaw clenched so tight his whole face had gone rigid, and the tear sealed shut behind him with a sound like a wound closing.
The border went quiet.
Raven stood there for a moment, looking at the spot where the dwarf had been. His violet eyes were calm. Almost bored.
Then he walked forward. Toward the drop of blood on the ash.
He knelt.
