She would have clung to him if she could have done so without hindering Pahni. Her rescued heart ached to throw her arms around him. Hugging him would not fill Jeremiah’s place in her clasp, or in her love. But she was a woman who needed to touch and embrace. She yearned for the comfort of contact. And Covenant had saved her: she believed that. In his arms, she might begin to recover from her participation in She Who Must Not Be Named.

He was Thomas Covenant: he would forgive her. In spite of what she had done to him. And to Elena.

Like her, he might not forgive himself.

Then she saw Pahni’s feet find the streambed. The Cord’s shoulders broke the surface: she was able to pull Covenant along more easily. A moment later, Stave began to propel himself and Linden step by step. Linden’s boots scraped clusters of stones.

As soon as she gained purchase on the bottom, she tugged away from Stave and surged after Covenant. In a flurry of water, she thrashed forward, leaning against the current.

Ahead of her, Pahni paused.

Linden closed the small distance as if she were frantic. Still waist deep in the stream, she tossed her Staff to Pahni so that she would not inadvertently violate Covenant with Earthpower. The girl’s eyes sprang wide in surprise, but she released one hand from Covenant to catch the Staff.

In a burst of grief and longing, Linden pitched forward. As she fell onto Covenant, she wrapped her arms around him. Her embrace closed as though she had been starving for the touch of his body on hers; and her weight drove both of them underwater.

She hardly felt the stream sweep over them. Instead his leprosy jolted her nerves. The dismemberment of his mind and memories hurt her like the gelid misery of emptiness within a caesure. Nevertheless he was here. He was real and alive: the Thomas Covenant who had nurtured her with his love until she had grown able to love him in return. For a few moments, at least, that was enough.

Entire worlds might be redeemed, as long as Covenant remained alive.

His vacancy hurt her. Of course it hurt her. Lost as he was, he could not reply to her clasp. Parts of him were too numb to recognize her. Nevertheless she clung to him as though he were the rock to which she had anchored her own life, and Jeremiah’s, and the Land’s.

And as she held him, a spark of silver fire gleamed briefly where her breasts met his chest. It seemed to shine through her damaged shirt until it filled his face, and hers, with argent possibilities. Then it vanished.

Wild magic. Only a hint, but—wild magic.

With a palpable wrench that nearly drove the breath from her lungs, Covenant returned to himself and began to struggle.