'But that one there might have the bones to do something about it.' Shivers had a grudge. One that wasn't going away with time, or kindness, or even lives saved. There aren't many wounds that ever heal all the way, and there are some that hurt more with every day that passes.

The Dogman seemed to guess at Logen's thoughts. 'Don't worry about Shivers. He's alright. We've got plenty to worry about with these Gurkish, or whatever.'

'Uh,' said Grim.

Logen wasn't so sure about that. The worst enemies are the ones that live next door, his father always used to tell him. Back in the old days he'd just have murdered the bastard where he stood and problem solved. But he was trying to be a better man now. He was trying hard.

'By the dead, though,' Dogman was saying. 'Fighting against brown men, now, for the Union? How the bloody hell did that all happen? We shouldn't be down here.'

Logen took a long breath, and he let Shivers walk away. 'Furious stuck around for us. Wasn't for him we'd never have been done with Bethod. We owe him. It's just this one last fight.'

'You ever noticed how one fight has a habit of leading on to another? Seems like there's always one fight more.'

'Uh,' said Grim.

'Not this time. This is the last, then we're done.'

'That so? And what happens then?'

'Back to the North, I guess.' Logen shrugged his shoulders. 'Peace, isn't it?'

'Peace?' grunted the Dogman. 'Just what is that, anyway? What do you do with it?'

'I reckon… well… we'll make things grow, or something.'

'Make things grow? By all the fucking dead! What do you, or I, or any one of us know about making things grow? What else have we done, all our lives, but kill?'

Logen wriggled his shoulders, uncomfortable. 'Got to keep some hope. A man can learn, can't he?'

'Can he? The more you kill, the better you get at it. And the better you get at killing, the less use you are for anything else. Seems to me we've lived this long 'cause when it comes to killing we're the very best there is.'

'You're in a black mood, Dogman.'

'I been in a black mood for years. What worries me is that you ain't. Hope don't much suit the likes of us, Logen. Answer me this. You ever touched a thing that wasn't hurt by it? What have you ever had, that didn't turn to dirt?'