Are you still sulking?Fine. Be sullen. It makes very little odds to me. I get my food either way.Speaking of which. See how I light this? See how I put the right wood on it? How delicious is that smoke? I could turn my back and throw the embers over my shoulder at you and some people might say you deserve it, but I don’t, do I?You can see the day. I can feel your golden stare.You don’t intimidate me, looking at me like that. Keep looking over my shoulder, too, through the windows. Don’t you think our hills are beautiful?I know they aren’t your hills. But look how the sunlight hits the orchard. You can see the paths where Sirath’s been walking. I think that’s his name. I’m not sure. The man as old as me, with hair as gray as my eyes. There aren’t many people around us here. Sometimes I hear a shout, though, and he looks up. I think it’s Sirath people call.Go ahead, eat. I won’t look. But do you see the rocks? By the overhang? Those gouges?Priests and priestesses and soldiers and slaves came from the city—I told you, it’s on the other side of the tower.
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