At sundown, they rode into a cave settlement in a narrow valley. At intervals during the night, Leachim interrupted her sleep to ply her with water and juicy morsels of fruit.
In the morning, he woke her with a bowl of poached eggs. She didn’t ask what kind of hen laid such small eggs, or whose share she might be eating. He brought water for bathing and her long yellow Sildahni cloth, washed and mended. Immersing herself in a puddle had never seemed so luxurious. Women and children peered at her through the door opening and the little window slots. Apart from burnt skin, she felt surprisingly well.
Leachim had his own ideas about her state of health when she joined him by the small, communal dam. ‘Griffins, they say, were the original mages. Wild mages, and it is thought the Gift was som
