She stood with Rath. Look at me, she thought with weird, cold pride. Everything was sharp and sure. Stabbing was awful, and she’d never have believed she would stand when she could run. She loved to run. But standing felt good, too. She looked at Rath. He looked at her. She thought he might urge her to go, but he didn’t. Maybe he just knew it wouldn’t matter, that there was no safety, but maybe . . . maybe he liked not being alone. He was, after all, just a boy. Sveva smiled at him, and there they stood, so near the end of their journey they could feel the mist of waterfalls from on high, but
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