THE ROAD grew narrower as they continued south, and the forest grew thicker and darker. Po led, despite Katsa’s protests. He insisted that when she set the pace, they always started out reasonably, but without fail, before long they were racing along at breakneck speed. He was taking it upon himself to protect Katsa’s horse from its rider.

“You say you’re thinking of the horse,” Katsa said, when they stopped once to water the horses at a stream that crossed the road. “But I think it’s just that you can’t keep up with me.”

He laughed at that. “You’re trying to bait me, and it won’t work.”

“By the way,” Katsa said, “it occurs to me that we haven’t practiced our fighting since I uncovered your deception and you agreed to stop lying to me.”

“No, nor since you punched me in the jaw because you were angry with Randa.”

She couldn’t hold back her smile. “Fine,” she said. “You’ll lead. But what about our practices? Don’t you want to continue them?”

“Of course,” he said. “Tonight, perhaps, if it’s still light when we stop.”

They rode quietly. Katsa’s mind wandered; and she found that when it wandered to anything to do with Po, she would check herself and proceed carefully. If she must think of him, then it would be nothing significant. He would gain nothing from his intrusions into her mind as they rode along this quiet forest path.

It occurred to her how susceptible he must be to intrusions. What if he were working out some complicated problem in his mind, concentrating very hard, and a great crowd of people approached? Or even a single person, who saw him and thought his eyes strange or admired his rings or wanted to buy his horse. Did he lose his concentration when other people filtered into his mind? How aggravating that would be.

And then she wondered: Could she get his attention, without saying a word? If she needed his help or wanted to stop, could she call to him in his mind? It must be possible; if a person within his range wanted to communicate with him, he must know it.

She looked at him, riding before her, his back straight and his arms steady; his white shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, as always. She looked at the trees then, and at her horse’s ears, and at the ground before her. She cleared her mind of anything to do with Po. I’ll hunt down a goose for dinner, she thought. The leaves on these trees are just beginning to change color. The weather is so lovely and cool.

And then, with all her might, she focused her attention on the back of Po’s head and screamed his name, inside her mind. He pulled on his reins so hard that his horse screeched and staggered and almost sat down. Her own horse nearly collided with his. And he looked so startled and flabbergasted—and irritated—that she couldn’t help it: She exploded with laughter.