Longfoot was the only one speaking. His talk was all of his own great achievements. How he had been to this place or that. How he knew this thing or that. How he had a remarkable talent for this, or for that. Ferro was sick of it already, and had told him so twice. The first time she thought she had been clear. The second time she had made sure of it. He would not be talking to her of his idiot travels again, but the others still suffered in silence.

There was space for her, down by the fire, but she did not want it. She preferred to sit above them, cross-legged in the grass on the lip of the hollow. It was cold up here in the wind, and she pulled the blanket tighter round her shivering shoulders. A strange and frightening thing, cold. She hated it.

But she preferred cold to company.

And so she sat apart, sullen and silent, and watched the light drain out of the brooding sky, watched the darkness creep into the land. There was just the faintest glow of the sun now, on the distant horizon. A last feeble brightness round the edges of the looming clouds.

The big pink stood up, and looked at her. 'Getting dark,' he said.

'Uh.'

'Guess that's what happens when the sun goes down, eh?'

'Uh.'

He scratched at the side of his thick neck. 'We need to set watches. Could be dangerous out here at night. We'll take it in shifts. I'll go first, then Luthar—'

'I'll watch,' she grunted.

'Don't worry. You can sleep. I'll wake you later.'

'I do not sleep.'

He stared at her. 'What, never?'

'Not often.'

'Maybe that explains her mood,' murmured Longfoot.

Meant to be under his breath, no doubt, but Ferro heard him. 'My mood is my business, fool.'

The Navigator said nothing as he wrapped himself in his blanket and stretched out beside the fire.

'You want to go first?' said Ninefingers, 'then do it, but wake me a couple of hours in. We each should take our turn.'

Slowly, quietly, wincing with the need not to make noise, Ferro stole from the cart. Dry meat. Dry bread. Water flask. Enough to keep her going for days. She shoved it into a canvas bag.

One of the horses snorted and shied as she slipped past and she scowled at it. She could ride. She could ride well, but she wanted nothing to do with horses. Damn fool, big beasts. Smelled bad. They might move quick, but they needed too much food and water. You could see and hear them from miles away. They left great big tracks to follow. Riding a horse made you weak. Rely on a horse and when you need to run, you find you can't any more.

Ferro had learned never to rely on anything except herself.