Promises given are promises always.' Washen hadn't made a sound. It was his father who offered second thoughts. 'If this is going to create troubles,' Diu muttered, 'maybe we should slip back home again.' 'Maybe you should,' their son allowed. Then he turned and abruptly walked off, never inviting them to follow, knowing they wouldn't be able to help themselves. Washen hurried up the path, feeling Diu in her footsteps. A young jungle of black umbra trees and elegant lambda bushes dissolved into a sudden landscape of bare iron: black pillars and arches created an indiscriminate, infuriating maze. Every step was a challenge, an act of conscious grace. Razored edges sliced exposed flesh, crisscrossing lingers and calves with thin pink wounds. Bottomless crevices beckoned to passersby, wind and dripping rainwater echoing out of the metal ground. Worst of all, Washen s body was accustomed to sleep at this hour. Fatigue slowed her senses and her common sense. When she saw Locke standing on the rusty lip of a cliff, waiting for them, she noticed nothing but his wide back and the long golden hair tied into an elaborate set of braids.
