(( Waldo Sandiago? Do you know how long it would take to find someone that skillful?<img alt="8O" src="./images/smilies/icon_eek.gif" title="Shocked"/>You'll have better luck finding a grain of sand on a football field. ))<br/><br/><span style="color: purple">"Yes, of course. I don't see the harm in that."</span>Zaida replied in what sounded like disappointment.<br/><br/>The sound of running feet could be heard trampling down the hallway towards them. Turin entered carrying a tray of neatly cut pieces of meat, a few loaves of bread, and an exceedingly large chalice of red wine.<br/>"You're supper." He said feebly. "I had more, but I dropped it because I saw--"<br/><span style="color: purple">"On the table over here, then go."</span>She spat the reply at Turin, cutting off his sentence.<br/>"Mistress?" whined Turin.<br/><span style="color: purple">"Go, Turin, now!"</span>she shouted.<br/>"Mistress . . . it's the hand."<br/><span style="color: purple">"There's nothing wrong with my hand. Get out, before I slam it on the back of your head."</span>She picked up a bread loaf and launched it at Turin, hitting him in the left eye, sending crumbs across the room.<br/>Undeterred, Turin tried again, but this time put both arms over his head for fear of wine, or cheese, or both being launched at him.<br/>"Mistress, the . . . black . . . hand . . . is . . . glowing."<br/><span style="color: purple">"What!"</span>cried Zaida as she launched the wine into the air above her head.<span style="color: purple">"Show me."</span>she ordered.<br/>Turin left the room and went back down the hallway and into a room where the black stone hand was kept.<br/><span style="color: purple">"I'll be right back so just sit tight."</span>she called back to Jack before she followed Turin.