I was busy swallowing spoonfuls of the hedgewitch’s diminishing tisane and seeking to stay conscious. A great exhaustion settled on me, so large and deep every day took on the quality of a dream except for the Aryx’s sluggish pulse. Now that I know what was stalking us, I curse myself for not recognizing it in time. I remember the Sun briefly smiling upon us the thirteenth day as we rode through a meadow, the nodding wet heads of dandille flowers smiling up at the cloudy sky. We pulled our horses to a halt—at least, they did; I was too busy hanging to the pommel. The sudden sunlight made our cloaks steam, and Tinan di Rocham laughed and sang a few lines of a hymn of praise to Jiserah. I did not think him a religious man, being so young. But I took note, though it cost me some effort to do so. I knew them all by now, and some part of me was ashamed at how I hoarded my knowledge, added to it, all in service of someday, perhaps, saving them from themselves. The Sun helped clear my head, and I straightened my spine, the Aryx sparking under my shirt.
