How much farther? Covenant wondered. At this pace? Assuming that the cliffs of the coast were even passable? But he did not ask Clyme or Branl. He had more immediate concerns. His mount’s gait had become labored, a ragged jarring. And as the sun sank toward distant Landsdrop, caesures began to sprout across the Spoiled Plains.

Too many of them: more than he had believed Joan could unleash without causing her own heart to burst. Instinctively he assumed that she—or turiya Raver—was trying to hunt him down.

Yet the Falls were comparatively brief. They flared into chiaroscuro, a swirling stutter of day and night, writhed avidly across the landscape, and then extinguished themselves. Indeed, they seemed somehow indecisive, as if they had lost the scent of their prey. And none of them came close enough to endanger Covenant’s small company. Instead they searched the region which the Ranyhyn would have crossed if they had run straight toward Foul’s Creche.

As late afternoon became evening, Covenant began to breathe more easily. He was able to persuade himself that Joan did not know where he was. She and turiya were only guessing. As long as his skin did not touch Loric’s krill—

Of course, it was possible that he was not Joan’s target. This display of violation may have been aimed at Linden and Jeremiah. The Despiser—and therefore his Ravers—surely understood that Linden and her son were at least as dangerous to him as Thomas Covenant. But Covenant trusted the Ranyhyn to protect them. And Linden had her Staff: she could ward herself and her companions.

When darkness had settled over the Spoiled Plains, Naybahn and Mhornym took shelter in a crooked gully. There a slightly brackish stream flowed vaguely northward, perhaps adding its waters to the Sarangrave; and along its sides grew tough saw-edged grasses sufficient for the destrier, as well as clumps of aliantha stunted like scrog. And among them grew a scant patch of amanibhavam to sustain the Ranyhyn. Clearly the Ranyhyn intended to rest there for the night.

After a sparse meal of treasure-berries, Branl left the gully to stand watch; and Covenant tried to settle himself for sleep by scooping hollows in the loose dirt to form a crude bed. Watching, Clyme remarked that the barrage of Falls would disturb the weather over the Lower Land. The Humbled sensed the approach of storms; of rain and winds in turmoil. But Covenant only shrugged. He could barely resist his memories: he certainly had no control over the weather. If his leprosy and the warmth of the krill did not sustain him, he would simply have to endure whatever came.

Huddled into himself, he dozed and roused repeatedly, waiting with as much patience as he could muster for the night to pass.