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at Strynn. Div felt as much as heard what she had come to know as its warning growl begin deep within the creature’s throat. Her already muddled mind clogged even further as the beast thrust its thoughts among them curiously—probably seeking to learn what had her so upset.
    “Rational!” Strynn spat, through a scowl that spoke of more personal discomfort. But something about the way she stood proved that she had regained a modicum of control. Or perhaps that had been the birkit, too: damping down strong emotions, as it was wont to do when tempers threatened to get out of hand. “No, you’re right,” she managed at last. “We’ve seensmall evidence and used it to reach big conclusions. We’re assuming that because Merry and Kryn are outnumbered they’re not in control. But both of them are Night Guard; these others are probably Ixtian regulars at best; it would be no problem for the two of them together to get the upper hand, if it even came to that.”
    “Assuming that Merryn and Kryn are still allies, which, let me remind you, is not a given.”
    Strynn glared at her. “Thank you for the optimism.”
    Div found her feet again and motioned toward the rain. “We have to be practical, Strynn. It’s raining and night’s coming on. Much as I know we’d both like to start out this very moment to find out what’s happened to Merry, we can’t—not and risk what might now be even more important than it was before, if this bunch of phantom Ixtians really have captured Merry and Kryn
and
, in a worst-case scenario, found and recognized the regalia. But think: If we can’t continue, the odds are good that they can’t either, given that this rainstorm looks pretty wide-ranging. In any case there’s no way they can know we’re following them, so whatever pace they’ve been making is the pace they’ll continue to make. Therefore, if we stop here, we can rebuild our strength, contrive a course of action that’s based on logic, not emotion—and scour this place from top to bottom for more clues without wasting too much time.”
    “You’re right—of course,” Strynn conceded. “Best we make camp, then decide. Anything we do now is likely to get us killed, tired as we are. But I hate it.”
    “And the horses,” Div reminded her. “They’re worn-out as well—and we have to have them—to carry supplies, if nothing else. A rest now could result in us making better time tomorrow.”
    You need to sleep
, the birkit told them flatly, speaking—if that was the term—directly from mind to mind.
You go straight
, it continued helpfully.
Those-You-Seek go around
.
    How do You know this? Strynn demanded
.
    She dreams: You dream. When waterfalls like this … sometimes We see those dreams and … know
.
    Strynn fished the ring that bore the finding stone from the neck of her tunic and stared at it speculatively, where it glittered like frozen fire on a chain, barely above the palm of her other hand. “And there’s always this. We’ll never lose track of them entirely.”
    Div didn’t want to add that Strynn’s assertion only held true if Merryn still retained possession of her matching ring, but didn’t want to smother what was a barely waxing flame of rationality—in both of them, for she cared for Merryn almost as much as Strynn did. “I think the Ixtians must be career soldiers,” she said, instead. “Look how they’ve cleaned up after themselves when they didn’t have to.”
    Strynn nodded wearily. “Which also suggests that they don’t plan to return, which could be good or bad.”
    “I think,” Div retorted, “it simply means that they’re taking matters as they come, just like we are. Now,” she continued, more loudly, “we have to put this behind us for a while. There’s nothing we can do at present but plan; we therefore tend to business as usual. ‘There is strength in routine,’ my one-mother used to say. We can think while we work, and the work itself will help us think more