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Teeth. Eyes like gobstoppers. Bristles and hair and crusted spit. Now shed have to walk. A thud and a curse followed.Doesnt matter much, does it? Elaynes voice was a snarl. He cursed himself.On your life, brother, keep her safe and train her well. Explain. Be kind. He tore himself free from his hearts desire, walked to Ylandra and knelt at her feet. Really? What else is new, Vertigern? Youve been making a fool of yourself since first we met. Probably long before that. Elayne, is she here? We need to get to safety, Shan murmured, petting the wolf cubs head, scratching behind his ears. The camp wasnt too far, but it felt like a hundred miles away. Shelter. Gabriel remained silent during dinner. He preferred watching and remaining vigilant. Karen and Max were hitting it off, and Dakota was toying with her food. The thought Dakota was jealous of Max was like a boil beginning to fester.Youre dying, dumbass. At least with Max shed have a future.He pushed away his plate and rose.Im going to take a walk. Im sorry, he told her, and let his sword fall. But it didnt hit her. The darkness swelled around her, lashed out, throwing him back to the ground. Ylandra rose, not as a physical body might rise, but like a puppet, a thrall, drawn up by another will. The Harbourmaster in Whitehaven is the sort of boozer where Rowan feels instinctively comfortable. Its not so muchspit-and-sawdust asphlegm-and-fibreglass. The cosy pubs in the valley are infinitely nicer to look at and hes got nothing personal against landscapes, log fires or exposed wooden beams, but theres something delightfully honest about watering holes where the main aim of the clientele is to get cheaply pissed. He likes people who make no pretence about their recreational habits. People come here to drink. To talk nonsense. To escape solitude or company or whatever else menaces them at home. The men and women who drink here do so because the food is cheap and brown and filling and because they can get more lager for their money than they can anywhere else. Gordon Shell doesnt look up as he trudges long the broken path. The view is as familiar to him as his own face, and he has long since stopped thinking of that as something worthy of further study. He walks with both hands behind him, coupled at the wrist, as if wearing handcuffs. He stoops a little, but its the effect of habit rather than old age. Hes spent his life here, in this wet, quiet valley, secreted away between the mountains and the sea. It’s a panorama of ridges and peaty holes, harsh slopes, lethal drops. He has learned to watch where he puts his feet. He’s broken both ankles and one leg. Knows the shotgun crack of a femur broken clean in two. Once found a climber at the base of Nape’s Needle, his skin the colour of a duck egg and his waterproofs punctured with spears of bone. It wasnt Shan. He hadnt come. Samara shrugged and scooped up her sketchpad.Go on. Where else do we have to go? A figure appeared in the doorway.Shes on her way. I said were leaving! He did …, Fine! The sound of approaching footsteps ceased..