‘You are Grinwallin’s architect. She more rightly belongs to you than she does to us.’
‘I imagined her only, Teighlar. You and yours raised her and lived in her, gave her heart and soul. She is not mine.’
‘You are so stubborn, damn it. We should put it to the test.’
Torrullin jerked his way. ‘Gods, no.’
‘Worried, my friend?’
‘Yes, bloody hell. One doesn’t mess with Grinwallin.’
Teighlar pushed his face into Torrullin’s. ‘Why not?’
‘You have seen what she is capable of!’
‘Why is that? Why does she throw a tantrum when challenged? Why is she more than stone and time? Why does she react when you are up to something? Pray tell, why does she listen to you?’
Torrullin pushed the man away. ‘Stop it. You know why. You were there.’
Teighlar smiled sadly. ‘Tell me again she doesn’t belong to you.’
Torrullin sighed as well and turned away to stare over the plains. ‘Imagination is not everything.’
‘Yes, it is. Cities are raised on it and worlds settled and space is traversed in it. Sentience is imagination. It is first, Torrullin, the creator.’
Torrullin said nothing.
‘But I would take on your dilemma with Grinwallin any day…if I could exchange it for the fruits of my imagination,’ Teighlar said softly.