Lion Head Mesa Wet Hands

I am afraid I have little more to offer, Eira replied, her voice carrying a note of rising impatience. She did not appreciate finding herself on the receiving end of what seemed to be a young man's self-important posturing. A boy, really, and here he was, making this more difficult than it needed to be. Her thoughts wandered for a fleeting moment to the trees she had seen on the way here—perhaps it would be simpler to pull the vines down herself.

But she reined in her irritation, lifting her chin slightly as she spoke again, this time more firmly, though still with the dignity expected of a lady of her standing.

Hasdrubal, she reiterated, killed my son. He escaped imprisonment and fled to these lands, where he has been hiding under another name. I need fiber—strong fiber—to bind him long enough to return him to where he belongs, so that justice may finally be served.