Eilir was crying once more as they backed away, weeping quietly, her tears trickling down past a silent sorrow; she and Astrid had met in the first year of the Change, and sworn the anamchara oath not long after. They had spent a generation together. John Hordle wept as well, with the harsh jerky sound of a man unaccustomed to it. Alleyne’s handsome face looked as if it were carved from ivory; his lips moved silently in words she couldn’t make out for a moment, and then he bowed his head.

One thing’s changed, Ritva knew suddenly.

Uncle Alleyne had never taken some things about the Rangers altogether seriously, though he’d been scrupulously polite and never made a fuss even as he gave all his considerable skill and ability to their affairs. The Dúnedain had already been refounded by Astrid and Eilir when he arrived fifteen years ago with his father and John, though not long before that. Now . . .

Now he’ll live her dream, she realized. And he’ll do it perfectly. For her.

They waited silently until the logs collapsed inward and the roar of the fire died down to a crackle that would last all night. Then he raised his head and gave the note. Ritva joined in on the beat, and every one of the Dúnedain as well. Eilir swayed to the rhythm, her hands dancing:

“A Elbereth Gilthoniel
silivren penna míriel . . .”

When they were finished, Ritva whispered again to herself: “Thy starlight on the Western Seas.”

Then she shook herself. You had to be able to put things aside and go on. They were in a dangerous wilderness and there was a great deal to do. The ashes would be carried home in Astrid’s helm, and by her long-standing will be scattered in Mithrilwood by the falls whose beauty she’d loved, but that was her husband’s work and her anamchara’s. Caught in the storm’s giant fist they had hopelessly overshot their rendezvous south of Boise, where helpers were supposed to be waiting.

They knew in a general sense where they were; it wasn’t all that far from where the Quest had passed through going east two years ago, just before they ran into General-President Thurston the elder’s column. They could locate themselves on a map as soon as they hit a marked roadway or abandoned town. What they weren’t likely to find was people, or any of the things people would have with them.

Ian Kovalevsky looked around. “Looks a bit like the Rockies, only lower,” he said.

Ritva snorted. “That’s because it is the Rockies, more or less, sweetie,” she said.