She heard the Giants murmuring anxiously to each other, felt Mahrtiir’s troubled regard and Stave’s blunt gaze. Jeremiah’s emptiness made it plain that he did not need her. Tightening her grasp on the Staff, she pushed herself to walk more quickly.

Her parents had taught her how to meet despair; but there were other answers. She had learned a few from her patients in Berenford Memorial.

Soon she found a southward slope beyond the basalt. But when she climbed to the hillcrest, she was not high enough to scan the dark horizons for more than a stone’s throw in any direction; so she moved toward the nearest obstruction and plodded upward again.

That rise afforded her a clear line of sight for perhaps a third of a league on all sides. Was it enough? She did not know. But the vantage suited her. Here she could no longer feel the emanations of her companions. And the ground was littered with loose stones, some of them sharp enough for her purpose.

She was as weary in her own way as any of the Swordmainnir, yet she needed to stay awake. Hunger and thirst might suffice to keep her from dozing for a time. Cold might help. But she needed more, and had other plans.

Somewhere in the night, one of the Ranyhyn nickered a query. Surely that was Hyn? But Linden did not know how to respond; and the soft call was not repeated.

She needed to be left alone. When she had seated herself on uncomfortable rocks exposed to the accumulating turbulence in the air, however, her nerves recognized Stave’s approach. He held a waterskin and a handful of treasure-berries. Over one shoulder, he carried the bedroll.

Sighing, she composed herself to endure his company, at least for a little while.

Fortunately he said nothing. Instead he gave her the waterskin, dropped the bedroll nearby. Then he stood motionless beside her, holding aliantha in his cupped fingers so that she could accept the fruit at her own pace.

He had lost his son so that hers could be saved. He may have understood more of her emotions than she cared to consider.

For his sake, she made an effort to drink and eat slowly; to convey gratitude by savoring the vitality of the berries. But the strain of his presence was too much for her. Soon she began to gulp from the waterskin. A moment later, she scooped the fruit from his hand so that he would have no excuse to stay with her.

He did not leave. He was Stave: he had declared his allegiance in spite of its extreme price.

After a moment, she begged him to go. “Let me do this by myself. Please.” Her voice was little more than a croak. “I’m lost. Too many of us have died, and I’ve done too much killing. I’m like Jeremiah. I need to find my own way out.”