Linden could have extended her own senses to the place of Liand’s death, if she had drawn upon the Staff to do so. But she did not want to observe the Giants at their labors, or to discern the shape of their lament: not until she had no choice. When the cairn was complete, Liand would be sealed away; entirely gone.

Instead she asked Stave quietly, “Are they almost done?”

He considered her question for a moment, then replied, “I deem that they are not.” Through Branl and Clyme, he could see the Giants. “Much of this region’s stone is porous and eroded, too friable to content them.”

“Aye,” Kindwind sighed without turning her head.

“Therefore,” Stave continued, “they search widely for boulders adequate to express their respect for the Stonedownor, and to expend their lamentation. I question whether they will name their homage complete before the sun approaches midday.”

“Aye,” Kindwind repeated. “By the measure of the Land’s need, and the Earth’s, they are too meticulous. While they labor, the time remaining to us drips away. Yet we are Giants. By the measure of our grief, their haste is great.

“And”—for the first time, she looked at Linden—“there is this to consider. We have not yet found our path. The perils arrayed against us are many, and we have not determined our course among them. By the measure of our indecision, the efforts of my comrades impose no delay.”

Midday? Linden thought. Good. She was not ready. She did not know how to make herself think about anything except Covenant and Jeremiah.

She prayed for Covenant, but he remained absent. The crevasse into which he had fallen was deep. The sun rose high and hot enough to draw sweat from his forehead, and still he seemed vacant, as though he had forgotten the Land and Linden and his own flesh. For him, Time had become a maze without an egress.

Instead Manethrall Mahrtiir was the first to return.

He came from the east along the shallow canyon, trotting as if his health-sense were as precise as vision. His chest heaved, and his garments showed dark patches of sweat; but Linden could see that he had begun to recover from his sorrow. He appeared calmer, soothed by physical strain. In spite of his bandage, he looked as keen for strife as ever. But his aura of anger and self-recrimination was gone.

Approaching Linden, he paused to offer her his familiar Ramen bow. But he did not address her, or wait for her to speak. Rather he continued down to the water’s edge, flung himself into the stream’s embrace, and let the current carry him along as he scrubbed dust and grime from his limbs.

Until he floated out of sight, Linden did not realize that she wanted to ask him if he had encountered Pahni.