[Sophia the Thunder Mistress]

Kâthaanî woke early, still groggy from her restless night. She took a long drink from her water bottle, trying to wash the sleep taste from her mouth and shook her head. Tiru still slept, curled in a ball in a mound of blanket and cloak, near the entrance to Marsillion’s tent. She could see her cousin’s shadow moving through the thin fabric walls of his shelter. Azârmanô and Thoronmir she did not see.

Abârzadân was up as well, Kâthaanî could not tell what he was doing, but he was moving jerkily through the grass muttering in a loud voice and a pile of his belongings lay on the ground beside him. She approached him uneasily and paused a moment before speaking. “Good morning, friend. Does all go well for you today?”

Abârzadân glanced up at her quickly, before turning back to his piles. “It is nothing.”

Kâthaanî raised an eyebrow at the man, but asked no questions and soon turned to wake the sleeping Tiru. The servant rose reluctantly, stretching and yawning in the mild morning. Kâthaanî could hear his joints creaking and snapping as he moved. Her eyes widened at the sound. Tiru, noticing her surprise, smiled wryly and commented, “You are from a long-lived people, Little Mistress, but I am no longer young among my own people. My limbs may be accustomed to long days, but they do not always like it.” She nodded in silent understanding and bent quickly to help the smaller man fold his bedroll.

While the two of them worked to pack their things, Azârmanô and Thoronmir returned to the camp with their wet hair plastered to their foreheads and full water bottles slung around their shoulders. The party finished loading the Kariborim in silence and, mounted once more on Nitirú, Kâthaanî slid back into place behind Azârmanô as they left their campsite behind.

The mood among the rescuers was somber, the haunting fear that had settled on them during the previous day’s mishap still lingered around them. There was no singing and very little speech among them during the day’s journey, but the travelling was fast and the roads were deserted and they made good time. Marsillion’s face was grim at the front of the column, and Thoronmir’s equally so at the rear; and the urgency that all six felt weighed so heavily that they did not stop riding for lunch, but ate plain bread and sipped water as they rode.

As evening fell and Kâthaanî began to feel Nitirú’s pace slacken, Marsillion called for a halt. “The ground is higher here, and this is as much cover as we will find tonight. I think we should stop here.” One head after another began to nod as the group silently dismounted, stretching their aching legs and unloading their mounts. Captain Azârmanô built a small fire, and prepared for the first watch while the others prepared the campsite. The grateful Kariborim, now unbridled, lowered their heads and began to graze, as one by one the rescue party unfolded their bedding and dropped wordlessly into it