“Do you remember where Idizina is?” I ask, fear rising as the path ahead of us grows dark.

Without looking away from his scrutiny of the forest, he shakes his head. “The landscape leading to Idizina changes each time a person leaves,” he says and readjusts the quiver strap over his shoulder. “Nuri told me when I took you to Aeradian. But I remember where that old cottage is.”

“Good, we should rest there.” I release a relieved breath and ignore the cold wind slapping against my face. “It’s nice to know that your banditry hasn’t been for nothing; at least you learned how to track.”

“Among a great many other things. What about you? Any other skills I should know about?” He tugs his cloak closer against the wind.

I shiver and brush cold strands of hair from my face. “Other than restoring someone’s torn-off arm? No, none I can think of.”

His bellowing laugh echoes through the trees.

“Not a bad trick. Not a bad trick at all.”

“I don’t understand,” Braizen huffs as he paces in a circle. The moon is our only light source, and the air holds a frosty sting. “It was here. Right here! I’m sure of it. Don’t you remember these trees?”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t paying much attention to my surroundings last time,” I admit.

“I swear it, Sparrow.” He curses and points. “Right there, see how the trees form a circle around us? The cottage was right here, at the center!”

The grove does seem to encircle the open space we stand in. The area may have once held a structure. But there’s nothing here besides a mound of dirt.

“Braizen, it’s dark. Likely you didn’t remember exactly where it—”

“No,” he interrupts. “I’m not mistaken. I may be an ardent, insufferable buffoon at times, but my memory serves me well, especially in the woods! The cottage should be exactly where we stand.”

The wind wails around us, and I shudder. “Well, where the cottage may or may not be doesn’t matter. It’s night, The Wood is awake, and I’m freezing! We need to find somewhere to sleep.”

Braizen strokes his chin and then stomps around the clearing picking up small branches.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a fire,” he answers without looking up. He continues his collecting.

“You can’t! You know what will happen if we give away our position!”

He ignores me and grabs handfuls of dried leaves.

“Braizen, stop! If we light a fire, The Others could come!” Still, nothing. I grab a small rock and chuck it at him. When it hits his arm, he jerks up and stares at me.