Linden could guess what he had in mind. But it would be dangerous for him in ways that she did not know how to predict. And she had her own arguments to make first; her own gambits to attempt. She hoped to forestall his intentions until they were no longer needed.

Fortunately he was not ready to announce a decision. Trying to sound casual, he remarked, “Pahni and Bhapa have been sent to seek out firewood, for the night will grow chill when these hills surrender their heat. Yet I do not foresee success. In this severe landscape”—he gestured around him—“they will search far and find little.”

She cleared her throat. “Along the stream?” Surely runoff brought wood as well as water?

“It is possible,” he conceded. “I would welcome the solace of a fire. We have known too much darkness.” Then he shrugged. “But I will not rely upon the prospect.”

Privately relieved, Linden nodded. Reclaiming her Staff, she climbed to her feet.

Her friends had reached the watercourse in a low canyon too wide to be called a ravine. Much of the ground was sand worn down from the hillsides; but boulders of various sizes jutted from the grit. She had slept behind one such thrust of stone: Covenant sat against another. However, the stretch of sand where the company had sat earlier was comparatively clear.

Without haste, several of the Ironhand’s comrades were setting out a second meal. Clearly they had eaten and rested well. Remembering their exhaustion under Mount Thunder, Linden was glad to see that they had regained much of their vitality.

Rime Coldspray gave her a sharp grin. Frostheart Grueburn greeted Linden with a Giantish bow; and Latebirth grinned as well, loosening her longsword in its sheath: a gesture like a promise. The other Swordmainnir concentrated on the Ardent’s bundles.

When Linden turned her gaze to the west, she saw the high cliff of Landsdrop above its foothills. The sun lay behind the precipice, leaving a blaze of late afternoon glory along its age-etched rim. From that angle, it cast its shadow across the whole company, leaving only Branl and Clyme on the hilltops lit.

Soon, she reminded herself, thinking of Jeremiah. She could not delay much longer.

Tightening her grip on herself, she tried to think of a way to unpuzzle the dilemma of Covenant’s absence: a way that did not involve holding him under water, or hitting him, or threatening to heal him. Or possessing him. She had learned to view such deeds with dismay. Like the croyel’s hold over Jeremiah, if with very different intentions, they would violate his essential freedom.

In addition, he had made it abundantly clear that he wanted to remain a leper, broken and numb and floundering. For reasons that surpassed her, he clung to his plight as if it defined him—or protected him.