After the meal, High Marshal Fallis asked Ardhiel to tell the company about his experience. The elf smiled, sketched a gesture on the air, and began. Paks, listening, recovered a little of her first enchantment with elves. The intonations of his voice, even in the common tongue, gave it a lyrical quality. His graceful hands, gesturing fluidly, reminded her of tall grass blowing in the wind. He caught her eye, and smiled; she felt her own face relax in response. The story he told, of being taken away on the flying steed they'd seen, and feasting in the High King's Hall, was strange enough. Paks was not sure whether Ardhiel thought the High King was the same as their High Lord—or whether that was someone else entirely—but she did not ask.

When he had finished, full darkness had fallen, and the stars glittered brightly out of a cloudless sky. Paks began to wonder if she could make it back to her place; she did not feel like moving again. Someone else began to talk with Ardhiel—she was too sleepy to notice who it was. Then she was asleep, hardly rousing when someone draped a blanket over her.

She roused again before dawn. One cheek was stiff with a cold wind that flowed down the canyon; the sky was pale green, like a bruise. She could see both rock walls clear against the sky, but down in the canyon shadows hid all detail. She rolled her face inside the blanket, and warmed the cold side of it with her breath. She felt stiff and sore, but much stronger than the day before. A horse whinnied; the sound echoed from the walls. Another one answered, louder. Now several of them called. Paks thought she could pick out Socks's whinny from the rest. She pushed herself up. Cold air swirled under the blanket and she knew she'd have to get up to get warm. A dark shape crouched over the fire, muttering. This morning she recognized one of the men-at-arms.

When she came to the fire, he handed her a mug of sib, grinning.

"'Tis cold, these early mornings," he said. "It must be the mountains; I've always heard it's cold all year round in mountains."

"That's true of the Dwarfmounts," agreed Paks. She shivered, and spread her hands to the flames. She had on a linen shirt over her trousers; the wind seemed to go through it as if it weren't there. Where were her clothes? Which pack?

As if he had heard her thought, Amberion dumped a pack beside the fire. "Your pack," he said, and reached for a mug of sib. "Glad you're up. We'll be riding today."

Paks found a wool shirt to cover the linen one, then paused. "Should I wear mail?"