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hauling themselves by rote. Dion pushed them on. Somewhere behind her,
Aranur brought up the rear, carrying the old man now as the starved, bony
body shuddered with the same chill that shook the children. Somewhere
above, Hishn sang the graysong strongly in Dion s head. The scent of the
wolf caught her nose and made it wrinkle. She grabbed a sharp protrusion
and hauled herself up, her fingers numb, the water running off her nose
unheeded. She gripped the nearest child and shoved the girl above to the
next foothold. Up. Ever up. If there was still fear in her gut from the height,
it did not matter. There was so little warmth, so little energy, that even
terror could not take hold.
And then they were at the top. It took an eternity to drag them through the
rocks and to the treeline before Hishn skidded up beside her and Mjau took
the children from her hands. Tomi was crying out, shouting something and
running past her to fling himself into the arms of one of the elders. Dion did
not look. She shook her head as if to clear it of the thunder. Trembling, her
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muscles would no longer hold her up, and she sank down, her head against
the wolf, her gasping breath muffled in the burning, burning, gray fur.
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Chapter 8
Fire warms your skin;
The Gray Ones warm your soul.
Fire. They had to have warmth. Aranur set his unconscious burden down in
the moss with the others, catching the old man s head before it flopped back
against the ground. The wound in the elder s leg was gory. It was no
wonder he had passed out. Aranur stretched back, rolling his shoulders to
rid them of the strained cramps his burden had caused. His chest heaved,
and his sweat ran down his spine and from under his arms. It was cold, like
the water, and he stifled his shiver with difficulty. If he was as cold as this
himself, how did these others, with their starved bellies and ill-clad legs,
fare? Moonworms, but he had never seen such a condition in a group of
people. With their blue-white shudders and chilled, dull wits, they would
succumb to hypothermia before he ever got them on the trail. And Dion
where was she? With the strain of the battle, then the healing, and finally
the rescue, she must be at the end of her endurance. Sure, she was stubborn
enough to keep going if he said she must, but if he pushed her too hard, she
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would end up little better than these refugees. He searched the group until
he located her not far from the rock pile that guarded the chimney s
opening. She was huddled against the wolf, her shoulders shaking. When he
touched her shoulder, he saw the fear still in her eyes.
Gods, he berated himself, how could he have forgotten her fear of heights?
He had just sent her down one cliff and up another, and she had gone
without a word of protest. He cursed himself like an idiot. He reached for
her, to draw her into his arms, but Hishn bared her teeth. Damn it all to the
seventh hell, he swore at the gray wolf s growl. Was it not enough that he
blamed himself for her fear, but that Hishn must curse him, as well?
He looked back at the rest of the group. The children crouched like bats,
their small bodies lost in the oversized gear, their arms wrapped around
their chests as they rocked and shivered and said nothing. Their lack of
response puzzled him. He frowned, looking more carefully. There was only
a dull acceptance in their faces as they watched the adults surrounding
Tomi, gripping his arms, and shouting words that remained unheard in the
thunder of the falls. One of the women the tall one with the bruised face
was shaking the boy, and Mjau finally took him away from her, leading
Tomi to the other children and letting them touch him tentatively with their
wet, icy hands.
Mjau met Aranur s eyes, and he nodded toward the trail. They were
exhausted, but they could not stop here to rest. So near the river s edge,
they could be spotted by the raiders, who would search until they found the
narrow path down the cliff. It would be the end of their cavern crossing. No
matter how tired they were, they would have to move.
He touched the nearest elder, a woman, on her arm. You ve got to strip,
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he shouted at her over the thunder of the falls. Your tunic will continue to
strip away your body heat.
The older woman stared at him blankly, her shudders uncontrollable. Heat?
There was no heat left to strip away. The wind shifted an icy-wet clump of
hair onto her cheek, and she pushed it behind her ear. It was so hard to
concentrate. She shook her head, not understanding his gesture.
Aranur stared at her face, noting the bruises that darkened her scalp beneath
the thin gray hair. Was she deaf? With an oath, he stripped her raincoat off
clumsily, batting away her hands when she tried to cling to the garment. He
motioned at the tunic. Still she stared at him, her hands on the hem of the
raincoat, and, taking advantage of her grip on the garment, he let her have
the coat while he took the edge of her tunic and tried to pull it up. The
woman s eyes flared in fear. Suddenly wild, she struggled against him, his
determination making her panic even more. Mjau! he shouted.
Quickly, Mjau took the woman s hands, soothing, persuading the elder
woman to let her lift the tunic over her head. When she stripped it from
those bony arms, Mjau smiled, wringing the icy cloth out, then shaking it
and using it as a damp towel to rub the worst of the water and mud from the
woman s body. The elder just watched Mjau as if in a trance, standing like
a doll while Mjau knelt and rubbed the circulation back into her shaking
legs. The elder woman did not even wince when the archer wiped away the
blood that ran from the gash in her left knee. When Mjau was done, she
wrung the tunic out again, folded it into a neat bundle, and tucked it inside
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