“If not a delirium, what is it?”
“Something old. Something our order has not encountered before. Something unusual, even at the deepest edges of the Weave.”
The scowl on Raven's face deepened. “Any more good news?”
“We think it may be singing.”
“Plenty in the Weave sing, nothing unusual there.”
“It sings the song of the whales.”
That stopped Raven dead, concentration marched across his face as he took this in.
“What is it?” I asked. “Why does that concern you?”
“Because whale song is the oldest language in the world.”
