110
Bradamante awoke at dawn to another cold, crisp morning. Dew sparkled on the rosy tips of the long grass where Egalite grazed in the nearby meadow.
Bradamante sat up and gathered her blanket around her. She reached for Rogero’s compass stone and pressed it between her hands to warm them. She curled her bare toes over the handle of the water knife and felt its heat spreading across her feet.
She was grateful now that she had taken the time the morning after her battle with Rogero to search for the white hilt of the knife where it had fallen into the snow. She left the others in their makeshift camp on the pretense of hunting again, but she didn’t say what it was she hunted.
She couldn’t help wondering if Rogero was still alive, or whether her stab wound to his side had proven fatal.
