The Elders dispersed, energized by the news of their God's supremacy. Gorak marched out to scream at his smiths. Old-Shell lumbered away to reinforce the walls. Razar-Fin went to tell the lizardmen that they were protected by the King of gods.
Only Krug and Iron-Scale remained.
The High Priest turned back to the brazier. He picked up a shovel and fed a scoop of coal into the Violet Flame.
Iron-Scale watched him for a long moment.
"You are quiet, Old Friend," Iron-Scale said softly.
Krug watched the sparks fly up toward the smoke vent.
"You saw Him," Krug stated.
"I did," Iron-Scale walked closer. "He wore the night like a cloak. He spoke with a voice that shook the stars."
Iron-Scale hesitated. He felt a pang of guilt, which was rare for him.
"Do you not wish..." Iron-Scale started, then corrected himself. "Does it not burn you? That He took me? You are the First. You found the Tablet. You carry the fire. Why did He summon the Knife and not the Hearth?"
