He was distracted enough that he only heard her second call, finally being shaken from his trance by the mention of soup. He stood up suddenly whirling on her with a feeling of anger he wouldn't normally have shown, not to her anyway.<br/><br/>"Delphine, you should<em>not</em>be out this late in the city," he snapped. "If Myraz's men had...if they'd..." In a moment the rage slipped from him, as he collapsed into a nearby chair, unable to hold in a sob. "Delphine...your uncle, he...Myraz has him. I don't know why, and I couldn't get access to him, I fear he..."<br/><br/>He buried his head in his hands, his body shaking as he wept. Ordinarily he wouldn't have let his daughter see his grief, but he felt himself unable to hold it in anymore. Especially when, unknown to his daughter, he was sick and it was only getting worse. The only sound for a few moments were his sobs and the sound of his tears falling against his apron.<br/><br/>Unseen by Vennar a second figure had entered the forge, this one a short, hunched figure leaning on a wooden staff that seemed impossibly ancient, the hand that gripped it almost as wrinkled as the wood was.