“No.” As the battle rage ebbed, he too began to shudder. His welts burned. The stench sickened him until he threw up. And what else might come out of the night?

He clenched his teeth and got to work. First he rolled in the grass to wipe the venom off him. Damp softness and smell of soil were like a friendly, stroking palm. Thereafter he searched about. Mad with fear, the horses had broken their tethers and bolted into the woods. Nicked and blunted, his sword was nearly useless. He took Hardgreip’s instead, for she had no great skill with it. Their garb and gear were strewn everywhere around. He gathered what he could and cleaned vileness from it as best he was able. When he found a stream he would wash everything fully.

Hardgreip had been hugging herself and shivering. “Grow small,” he called aloft. “Else you’ll make too much noise and show too clearly, plowing through the brush.”

She dwindled and stood before him, hands clasped above her loins, tangled locks falling past bowed head to hide her face. “What shall we do?” she asked meekly.

“Anything can find us if we keep to the path,” he said. “We’ll get far off it and trust the wilderness can hide us. Tomorrow we’ll strike south, going by the sun, and ought to come on lands of men sometime.”

“That should be wise for you.” He could barely hear her.

“No, now, you are not foredoomed,” he said with more cheer than he felt. “We overcame this troll. Let the rest beware.”

“Maybe I can have you by me for a few days yet,” she sighed.

They donned their clothes, loaded up their outfits, and set forth. The way was slow and hard. Though the moon shone bright enough to drown out most stars, its light seeped between the leaves in patches, spatters, and dim edgings. Hadding made his way well-nigh inch by inch. For all his woodcraft, he stumbled against logs and boulders. Undergrowth snared his feet, branches whipped his face. As he pushed awkwardly through unseen brakes, he thought how everything swished and crackled, and what a trail he must be leaving. Formerly Hardgreip would have taken the lead, deft as a wolf. The will seemed to have bled out of her and she dumbly followed him.

“Come morning, we can rest as long as we like,” he said once. The words rang so empty that he spoke no more. His breath went in and out, hot and harsh.

Suddenly he felt the ground slope downward. He knew not whether it was into a dale or merely a hollow. By day he could have chosen whether or not to go around. In this murk he deemed that to keep straight ahead was belike less bad. At least he should find water somewhere below. Thirst smoldered in his mouth and throat.