It was so dark, and Logen was so tired, that he barely even saw the ruin until they were almost inside it. It must have been a mill, he reckoned. It was built out right next to the stream, though he guessed the wheel had been missing for a few hundred years or more.

'We'll stop here,' hissed Ferro, ducking through the crumbling doorway. Logen was too tired to do anything but nod and shamble after her. Thin moonlight washed down into the empty shell, picking out the edges of stones, the shapes of old windows, the hard-packed dirt of the ground. He stumbled to the nearest wall and sagged against it, sliding slowly down until his arse hit the mud.

'Still alive,' he mouthed silently, and grinned to himself. A hundred cuts and scrapes and bruises clamoured for attention, but he was still alive. He sat motionless—damp and aching and utterly spent, let his eyes close, and enjoyed the feeling of not having to move.

He frowned. There was a strange sound in the darkness, over the trickling of the stream. A tapping, clicking sound. It took him a moment to realise what it was. Ferro's teeth. He dragged his coat off, wincing as he pulled it over his torn elbow, and held it out to her in the dark.

'What's this?'

'A coat.'

'I see it's a coat. What for?'

Damn it but she was stubborn. Logen almost laughed out loud. 'I may not have your eyes, but I can still hear your teeth rattling.' He held the coat out again. 'Wish I had more to offer you, but this is all I've got. You need it more 'n me, and there it is. No shame in that. Take it.'

There was a pause, then he felt it pulled out of his hand, heard her wrapping it round herself. 'Thanks,' she grunted.

He raised his eyebrows, wondering if he could have heard that right. Seemed there was a first time for everything. 'Alright. And to you.'

'Uh?'

'For the help. Under the city, and on the hill with the stones, and up on the roofs, and all the rest.' He thought about it for a moment. 'That's a lot of help. More than I deserve, most likely, but, well, I'm still good and grateful for it.' He waited for her to say something, but nothing came. Only the sound of the stream gurgling under the walls of the building, the sound of the wind hissing through the empty windows, the sound of his own rough breathing. 'You're alright,' he said. 'That's all I'm saying. Whatever you try to make out, you're alright.'