Today is good, she thought while handing Owl a crab apple. Then she blinked because she couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought such a thing. The last time she’d felt it. Yet here she was, pleased by their pace down the mountain, pleased by the absence of Cartorran soldiers nearby, and pleased by a soothing landscape on a cold but sunny winter’s day.

Most of all, she was pleased that she and Owl could enjoy a snack of crab apples and salted deer instead of foraged nuts gone rancid. That they could, for a time, relax without fear of ambush.

The only problem was the lack of a clear path across the river. The horses could not take the stepping-stones, and there was no obvious passage that Iseult could see to the east or west. Esme, when Iseult asked about it, had nothing to offer. She had scouted no farther.

“Then you stay with Owl,” Iseult replied. She felt calmer than she had in days. Stronger too. “I’ll be the one to scout ahead this time.”

For once, the weasel did not argue. She’d been walking all day; she was hungry and tired and deeply annoyed that Iseult had not let her bite Owl’s nose. (Owl had, after all, stepped on her tail first.) For once, she seemed content to rest while Owl dozed in a sunbeam.

After grabbing her staff, Iseult set off across the river. The stones, though slick and worn by waves, were spaced far enough apart that she could reach them with easy leaps. Only one required a full running jump, and even that movement felt good.

She couldn’t explain it. After last night’s foray into the Loom, after encountering Corlant and being pummeled by ghosts, Iseult had expected exhaustion.

Instead, she felt alert, alive, and powerful. Perhaps it was the sunshine, perhaps it was the food, or perhaps it was simply knowing that the end of the Ohrins was only a day and a half away.

On the river’s opposite shore, sand stretched flat until the pools began. Scrub grew in patches, some trees too. Mostly it was a low, tickling grass that Iseult found easy to tromp over. Around the pools she went, some no larger than the shepherd’s hut from last night, but most as long as a galleon and wide as the river they had once been. Minnows skated within, vanishing each time a wind danced over the waters.

Iseult was in no rush to circle the pools, and it took her some time before she finally reached an area where pine trees once more speared the sky. She paused there, at the forest’s edge, to glance back toward their temporary camp. Owl’s Threads were still muted with sleep; no other Threads glittered nearby.