“It doesn’t feel as if the tendons have been severed or the bones broken,” she said.

Beyond the walls of their shelter, the Urdas suddenly began to chant, breaking the momentary silence. The words of the chant were indistinguishable, but their purpose was clear.

“Look at them,” Atalan growled. “Afraid to do anything more than stand out there and hope that by calling on their spirit guardians something bad will happen to us. Stupid.”

“They do the only thing they know to do,” Cinnaminson said quietly.

The Rock Troll glanced over at her, his gaze flat and unfriendly. “Don’t make excuses for them, blind girl. They don’t deserve it. They would have killed you.”

“A blind girl understands something about the need for excuses,” she replied, turning her empty eyes toward his face. “A blind girl perceives savagery differently than you do, I think.”

Kermadec appeared and knelt down beside them. Without a word, he took out his hunting knife, cut off Pen’s pant legs, and used the scraps of cloth to bind the wounds. “You can wash and dress this later, once we are deeper into the ruins and safely away from the Urdas.”

Pen nodded. “I’ll be all right.”

Kermadec moved away again, and Pen looked over at Atalan. “I owe you my life,” he said.

The burly Troll glanced at him, startled. His blunt features tightened. “You don’t owe me anything, little man,” he replied.

Then he rose with a grunt and walked away.

Perplexed, Pen stared after him. “What is wrong with him? Why is he so unfriendly?”

“He isn’t sure how he feels about what he has just done,” Cinnaminson answered. “He doesn’t know why he did it.” She touched his shoulder. “This doesn’t have to do with you, Pen. It has to do with his brother and himself. I think almost everything does.”