Marveling, the Manethrall studied Covenant. But what he saw with his eyeless senses appeared to satisfy him. Lifting his face to the sky, he gave a whinnying cry to recall his Cords.

As the sound carried through the night, Linden found herself kneeling on the grass among Giants who seemed as tall as trees. She did not remember sagging to the ground: she simply had no strength to stand. Still she continued to watch Covenant as he stretched and flexed his wrapped fingers in evident wonder. She did not breathe normally until he stooped to grasp the krill again. As he lifted it, its radiance lit his hair like silver fire—but holding it did not hurt him.

With an air of self-congratulation, the Ardent withdrew to consider the company from the slope of the hollow. His manner—and Covenant’s—confirmed that the danger had passed.

Sighing, Linden let herself fall back to sit with her knees hugged against her chest, and her face hidden. She had given in to the Harrow too readily. Now she was useless.

Projecting more confidence, the Harrow repeated, “I am impatient, lady. Do you seek to prolong your son’s plight?”

No one paid any attention to him.

While Mahrtiir’s call receded among the trees, the Giants began to relax. Cabledarm or Cirrus Kindwind murmured a low jest that Linden did not hear: two or three of the Ironhand’s company chuckled in response. Perhaps to reassure him, Galesend gave Liand’s shoulder a friendly shake that staggered him. Coldspray rolled her head to loosen a heavy burden of tension from her neck.

The Humbled gathered around Covenant as if to guard him from his companions. At the same time, Stave returned among the Giants to stand near Linden. Prostrate on the grass, Anele continued sleeping as though nothing had happened to disturb the respite which he had received from his parents.

There were things that Linden needed to do: she was sure of it. Questions to ask. Decisions to make—or insist upon. Actions to take. The Harrow was right. Surely the time had come to require him to keep his side of the bargain?

But her hands seemed to weigh more now than they did when she had carried the Staff. Without Covenant’s ring on its chain around her neck, she did not know how to lift up her head. Soon, she told herself. Soon—But right now she felt too deprived and beaten to do anything except huddle into herself and try to slip sideways into some realm of memory or helplessness where she could not be held responsible.

Tried to stop me.

He did not know of your intent.

She’ll probably try again later.

The night after the battle of First Woodhelven, Linden had dreamed that she had become carrion. Like Joan, she needed to gather the remnants of her strength—or her mind—and could not.