won’t die yet. I want to see Binabik again, and Josua . . . and Miriamele. And I want to see Pryrates and Elias suffer for what they did. I want a home again, a warm bed—oh, merciful Usires, if you really are real, let me have a home again! Don’t let me die in the cold! Let me find a home . . . a home . . . let me find a home . . . ! Sleep was conquering him at last. He seemed to hear his own voice echoing down an old stone well. At last he slid away from cold and painful thoughts into a warmer place. • • •
