“Fear not! I have been sent to you, mother of Paign,” said the small gargoyle, his voice making a curious, buzzing sound.
His eyes shown in brilliant copper. Like a new teapot from the shops in Røros, she marveled.
Then it hit her. Shocked, Gudrun realized the being had spoken to her, but without actual speech. At least, not speech her captors could hear.
Gudrun knew not what to do, so she simply stared at the pearlescent wings of her visitor as they gently undulated back and forth. Feeling a tightness in her chest, Gudrun finally softly exhaled the deep breath she’d inhaled several seconds earlier.
“Ah, good! It is well that you are calm, mother of Paign,” the tiny gargoyle hummed to her. “I am Zarentil and I bring you tidings of your son.”
For reasons that Gudrun could not explain, the misery and ache in her wrists immediately diminished.
“Your son has been in the clutches of the gargoyle known as Rance-Dahl. From the area you know as Ruar’s Ridge, below the very peak of the same name, your son was taken captive by Rance-Dahl to the Glimmer. This gargoyle is known to me over the span of many, long generations. He is a vile beast, ruthless and forgiving, not.”
Gudrun’s heart leapt within her, both from the pure joy of news of her son and sheer anguish over his suffering. She had the distinct impression that Zarentil paused his speech to allow her time to fully experience these feelings.
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