They came out to the slab in the order Alistair would have predicted.
Due first, because Due was never one to let anyone else reach an unknown thing before him. Elara walked second, at her own pace, refusing to adjust her steps for anyone. Silas came last, with his hands tucked deep in his coat pockets, walking like a man who was already half-finished thinking about whatever waited for him on the stone.
The morning had grown out of its first hour, and the light on the slab was thin and pale.
Due stood in front of the carving for a long minute without speaking. He did not touch it; however, he moved a half-step left, a half-step right, leaned in, leaned back, and crouched on his heels to stare at it from below. He was reading the cut, Alistair understood. Not the shape, but the way the shape had been put into the stone.
"This wasn't done with a knife," said Due, still crouched.
