'I thought you was all killed,' said Logen as he got his balance back. 'Guess there's such a thing as being too realistic'

Dogman got to his feet, slowly. He held out his hand, and Logen took hold of it.

There was nothing to say. Not for men who'd been through as much as the two of them had together—fighting the Shanka, crossing the mountains, getting through the wars, and after. Years of it. Dogman pressed his hand and Logen slapped his other hand on top of it, and Dogman slapped his other hand on top of that. They grinned at each other, and nodded, and things were back the way they had been. Nothing needed saying.

'Grim. Good to see you.'

'Uh,' grunted Grim, handing him up a mug then looking back to his shafts, just as though Logen had gone for a piss a minute ago and come back a minute later like everyone had expected. Logen had to grin. He'd have hoped for nothing else.

'That Black Dow hiding down there?'

'I'd have hidden better if I knew you were coming.' Dow looked Logen up and down with a grin not entirely welcoming. 'If it ain't Ninefingers his self. Thought you said he went over a cliff?' he barked at Dogman.

'That's what I saw.'

'Oh, I went over.' Logen remembered the wind in his mouth, the rock and the snow turning around him, the crash as the water crushed his breath out. 'I went on over and I washed up whole, more or less.' Dogman made room for him on the stretched-out hides by the fire, and he sat down, and the others sat near him.

Dow was shaking his head. 'You always was a lucky bastard when it came to staying alive. I should've known you'd turn up.'

'I thought the Flatheads had got you all sure,' said Logen. 'How d'you get out of there?'

'Threetrees got us out,' said Dogman.

Tul nodded. 'Led us out and over the mountains, and hunted through the North, and all the way down into Angland.'

'Squabbling all the way like a bunch of old women, no doubt?'

Dogman grinned across at Dow. 'There was some moaning on the trail.'

'Where's Threetrees now, then?' Logen was looking forward to having a word with that old boy.

'Dead,' said Grim.

Logen winced. He'd guessed that might be the way, since Dogman was in charge. Tul nodded his big head. 'Died fighting. Leading a charge, into the Shanka. Died fighting that thing. That Feared.'

'Bastard fucking thing.' And Dow hawked some spit into the mud.

'What about Forley?'

'Dead n'all,' barked Dow. 'He went into Carleon, to warn Bethod that the Shanka were coming over the mountains. Calder had him killed, just for the sport of it. Bastard!' And he spat again. He'd always been a great one for spitting, had Dow.

'Dead.' Logen shook his head. Forley dead, and Threetrees dead, it was a damn shame. But it wasn't so long since he thought the whole lot of them were back in the mud, so four still going was quite the bonus, in a way. 'Well. Good men both. The best, and died well, by the sound of it. As well as men can, anyway.'