The Hold recognised her on a Sunday.
Nara had been to the Hold with Davan four times before this. The Sunday dinner in the third week, the east tower visit, two archive sessions where Davan had been carried in the specific arrangement and had slept through everything with the complete trust of someone who found the Hold's stone and old-wood smell correct.
This Sunday was different.
She couldn't have said what changed. The Hold was the same — same entrance court, same stone, same insignia above the main door. Cael at the entrance with the clipboard and the composed expression that contained everything.
He looked at Davan.
And did something she'd never seen him do.
He reached out.
Very carefully. The one-finger approach she'd used herself, the approach you used with someone very small
