Ferro rode, and watched the land. Still they followed the dark water, still the wind blew cold through her clothes, still the looming sky was heavy with chaos, and yet the country was changing. Where it had been flat as a table, now it was full of rises and sudden, hidden troughs. Land that men could hide in, and she did not like that thought. Not that she was fearful, for Ferro Maljinn feared no man. But she had to look and listen all the more carefully, for signs that anyone had passed, for signs that anyone was waiting.

That was simple good sense.

The grass had changed as well. She had grown used to it all around, tall and waving in the wind, but here it was short, and dry, and withered pale like straw. It was getting shorter, too, as they went further. Today there were bald patches scattered round. Bare earth, where nothing grew. Empty earth, like the dust of the Badlands.

Dead earth.

And dead for no reason that she could see. She frowned out across the crinkled plain, out towards far distant hills, a faint and ragged line above the horizon. Nothing moved in all that vast space. Nothing but them and the impatient clouds. And one bird, hovering high, high up, almost still on the air, long feathers on its dark wing tips fluttering.

'First bird I seen in two days,' grunted Ninefingers, peering up at it suspiciously.

'Huh,' she grunted. 'The birds have more sense than us. What are we doing here?'

'Got nowhere better to be.'

Ferro had better places to be. Anywhere there were Gurkish to kill. 'Speak for yourself.'

'What? You got a crowd of friends back in the Badlands, all asking after you? Where did Ferro get to? The laughs all dried up since she went away.' And he snorted as if he had said something funny.

Ferro did not see what. 'We can't all be as well-loved as you, pink.' She gave a snort of her own. 'I'm sure they will have a feast ready for you when you get back to the North.'

'Oh, there'll be a feast alright. Just as soon as they've hung me.'