She didn’t even know she could trust him, not really. And here she was, rumbling soggily into harm’s way at his suggestion. But despite it all, Revekah was glad of the company. Even if that company was given to tuneless whistling. After a third breathy iteration of “The Maid of Kilver”, she could take no more.

“Will you please give it a rest?”

Kurkas leaned back on the bench seat, shoulders slumped. “I liked you better when you were trying to kill me.”

“I definitely liked you better when you were unconscious.”

He flicked the tail of his sodden cloak and drew the rest in tighter. “You want to tell me what’s eating you? You’ve had a face like a flooded gutter all day.”

“I’ve failed my oldest friend in every possible way, and you want to know why I’m unhappy?”

“Don’t give me that. You’ve fought ever since Zanya. Don’t reckon you’d give up now.”

“Why do you care?”

“I’m the sympathetic sort, ask anyone.”

Revekah grunted. She’d caught her reflection that morning. Or at least the reflection of an old woman who looked like her. She’d never thought of herself as old before. Just older. But these past days she felt the tally of years in every creaking joint.

“I’ve not slept well,” she said at last.

“So you said. Guess it must’ve been thunder I heard last night. Maybe a wild pig broke in and passed out beside the fire.”

“Will you stop with that?” she snapped. “There’s a difference between sleeping and sleeping well. It’s the same as exists between having been bred and having good breeding.”

“That an insult? Because I never had much tutoring, so I ain’t one for erudition or loquacity. And don’t get me started on similes. Pass me by like a leaf in a gale, they do.”

Revekah shot Kurkas a suspicious glance. He stared dead ahead, with his good eye out of sight. Aggravating man.

“Bad dreams, is it?” he asked.

“I never remember them.”

“Might be it’s better that way.”

She shook her head, again trying to piece together the scattered details. There were no images, only feelings. Of yearning. Of coming home. “All I know is that my thoughts feel heavy all the time. Like I could curl up and sleep at any moment.”

“Then why don’t you? Plenty of room in the back. I can manage the cart for a spell.”

“Won’t help,” she said instead. “I’ll just feel worse when I wake.”

“No way to live, that. Makes my skin itch just thinking on it.”

“You asked.”

Another prolonged silence, broken only by the hiss of rain and the mare’s plodding footsteps. Eskavord became a grey smudge on a rain-swept horizon. To the north, firestone lanterns blazed beneath dancing heels on Gallows Hill.