Icons and their dating

The silence that followed my statement was broken by a plate being slammed on the table, followed by silverware. Just say it. Now! She grabbed his arm and channelled everything she had into him. In a whisper of feathers on the breeze, Kiah the owl arrived, perching on the windowsill and hissing in anger, in warning.She always comes when I need her. Jerens own words roared through her head.When theres danger. The coffee? Yeah, thanks …, He swallows, drily, as the image on the bare brick comes into focus. He thinks of cave paintings: ancient finger-paintings of elongated figures; ridge-back game and huge deer with splayed-finger antlers. Some of them overlap one another, layer after layer of stick figure, running, kneeling, holding hands. Something that might be stars spin around the crown of one larger figure: bearded, pink-prick eyes; a suggestion of tangled crown and beard. Beside it are three smaller figures, holding hands, like paper dolls. Rowan changes his position, breathing hard. Shines his torch at the entirety of the wall and feels as though somebody has stepped upon his insides. He breath catches in his throat as he takes in a colossal swirl overlaid handprints, of scratches and scuffs scored so deeply into the neatly-painted wall that in places it seems as though the outline has been scratched into the brick by bleeding, frenzied hands. Rowan sees perfectly round eyes. A face made up from swatches of different skin. Its a patchwork pig mask; crinkled leather and a snarl of yellowed teeth and tusk. Rowan hears his heart thumping hard; a drumbeat, soft but insistent. It grows, louder, deeper, as he stares again at the great face on the wall. For a moment, in the light of the torch, the shapes upon the wall seemto move. They flicker, like tongues of fire; stick-men and long-dead beasts strobing in an orgy of ecstatic worship around the leering central figure. His features softened abruptly. To her horror, he smiled.Yes, Jeren. You. Even defiled by the Shistra-Phails touch. Even with Khains mark on you. But I cant have you now, can I? How many? You have to know how many! Getting anything? Gabriel asked. Rowan becomes aware of a thudding in his chest. Theres a taste of sour fruit and iron on his tongue. His head is starting to throb. Hes panting, half mad, as he gives his attention back to Vicky. The blood has drained from her face but she holds his gaze. There is no pain as he retrieves a card from his pocket and places it down on the table-top for her. She takes it, her hands shaking. He stands and wipes his face with his gloved palm. Hes suddenly greasy with sweat. [ i_001.jpg] Where to now? I asked. We could go back to the bed-and-breakfast and catch a quick nap. And what do you want me to do? Again, the sound of drums. Wood and leather, rhythmic and swift: split wood beating a thunderous pulse on a perfect circle of taut skin. Jeren pulled on the silvery-grey tunic and trousers of suede-like material that the Shistra-Phail favoured and wrapped the wolf skin trimmed in River Holt blue around her shoulders in defence against the chilly predawn. The necklace which she had used to decorate it she left behind, hidden beneath her bedroll. It had no place on her today. Shan carried her like a child and settled her inside the tent, wrapping her in the blanket. When he leaned over her, he took a moment to study her exhausted face. I was just getting ready to head home. I could meet you at your office in thirty minutes. On the bright screen, her own reflection a veil on the scene, she sat on her bed as Woe reared up beside her. Im going to give you a gift, Shan. She unfurled her fingers, long nails glinting in the half-light. Whether you want it or not. For those of us youve killed, for those possessions youve taken— Im coming out. Stay where you are. Shan just waited, studying the area, trying to draw every clue out of the landscape. Finally, the Sect Mother got to her feet once more, wiping her pale face and trying desperately to look like it had never happened..