It looked like it had been through the wringer a hundred times over. I remembered that it had scribbled handwriting inside. Althea opened the cover carefully. “Last winter I found a large, brown package waiting for me at the post office—it was this book. It had been sent to me by members of Kormak’s family. They still own the land he dwelled on, and one of them had made the journey to the cabin and found this. They kept it at their home in Iceland for a few years, unopened. Then they heard I was writing a history of Gimli, so they sent it to me. It’s Kormak’s old journals.” “What does a man who died years ago have to do with Grandpa?” Michael asked. “I’ll get to that. Just give me a second.” She flipped through a few pages, read a bit to herself, then flipped ahead some more. All the paper was yellow and the book looked like it would fall apart. “Ah, here’s something.” She pointed at the page.
