Anvar doesn't try and hide his emotions when he reaches home.
"Anvar?" His mother comes towards him, worry on her face. "Anvar, what's wrong?"
"I found it, mother," he says. She tugs him gently towards the big wooden seat under the window.
"Tell me about it."
"There was a record from 1477," he begins. "After the war. They found bodies buried a long way out. They died by violence." It's a struggle keeping his voice level. "There weren't any records from when it happened, so they didn't know who they were. But they recorded what they wore." He looks up. "Mother, there was a picture of father's torc. The one you gave him."