While Eli explored the link between his core and his sparks, Laranya stood upright on the cart, the reins loose in her hands. Peering into the forest shadows, inhaling deeply of the forest scents.

After a time, she clicked for the donkey to stop. "There's a stream off to the right. We need water--and to leave the path. If a patrol comes through here, they'll come through here."

Despite feeling his link to the sparks more clearly, Eli couldn't move them any farther from himself. And despite feeling the weight of the mountain just there, lurking inside his core, he couldn't give them much additional heft.

"If you see anything, touch my face to tell me if it's ..." Laranya tapped her forehead, her chin, her right shoulder, her left shoulder. "... forward, backward, right, left. Okay?"

Still, at least he'd gained an intuitive understanding of how to develop more control, more power. That was the first step toward eventual--

"Eli? Eli!"

Oh! His sparks brushed both her cheeks, in apology.

"Can you keep watch with the sparks?"

Yes, he told her.

She guided the donkey off the path and into the woods. She managed to keep the cart fairly level, though the jostling combined with Eli's renewed shivering and made his teeth chatter. Not from cold or fear, but from ... readiness.

The air smelled rich and dam. Laranya left the cart twice to scout ahead. The second time, Eli felt his fragility ebbing away. He started losing the sense that stillness protected him. He was getting ready to shed his skin.

Laranya concealed their backtrail then picked a meandering path through the trees. Careful of the wheels rolling over roots. Mindful of the donkey and wary of jolting Eli, even though his strength was fully returning. His hands clenched inside his leathery shell. He flexed his arms, his legs. He opened and closed his mouth. The sensation reminded him of being covered in dried mud.

Laranya finally halted the cart in a clearing beside a forest pool. More of a slow widening of the stream than a proper pool. A deep bend where the water ran deep and slow. She unharnessed the donkey and told her to drink, then told Eli she'd return shortly.

"I need to check there are no surprises," she said, "and cover our trail and, to, uh ..."

He tapped her left cheek: Yes.

"Oh, you think you know?" she asked.

Yes, he told her.

She wanted to greet the forest as a dryn, to pay her respects or just to ... to immerse herself in the wilderness. This was as close as she'd come to the Glade in a long while. She wrinkled her nose at him, then slipped away, though the trees like a forest creature. Well, or a dryad.

A moment later, she faded into the shadows like a memory into forgetting.

Eli exhaled. Good. Time to break free. He wanted privacy for that, even though she'd pulled splinters out of his ass for hours the previous night. He didn't know why he cared. Not from shame or fear. Not lack of trust, not anymore. Just ... some things were best done alone.

When he rolled his shoulders, he felt the 'mud' crack around him. His arms tore through and he started peeling the extra layer of skin from his face. When he exposed his eyes, his vision expanded to include the new perspective. So he could see again, that was nice.

He scraped his chest free then lifted himself into a sitting position, his legs still wrapped in the stiff .... whatever. Any word was better than 'scab'. Peel, cocoon, mud. He breathed for a moment, making sure that everything felt okay, then lifted his knees free from the mud, swiveled sideways, then stood on the forest floor.

His sparks worked better than a mirror--unfortunately. He looked like angelbrood, like a mockery of man, wrapped in a patches of human skin. He grimaced at the thought, then used the sparks to peel away the remaining scraps of Chivat Lo's gaudy robe and loose pants. Huh. That worked better than he'd expected. They really were stronger now. He stretched and turned, then scratched more vigorously with his fingers, leaving a mound of his own scar tissue on the ground.

His new skin felt good. Strong. He'd even regrown his eyebrows, and a finger's-width of his hair. Plus, hey, he hadn't lost any teeth this time. Another win.

The donkey brayed softly and trotted closer.

"Aren't you a magnificent animal?" he said, offering his hand to sniff.

The donkey licked him instead, then started chewing at his wrist with her yellow teeth.

"Yeah, I'm delicious," he told her, before heading for the pool.

He waded in, disturbing tadpoles and water-striders. The water was cold but the cold felt good. He scrubbed at his body, watching flecks of skin drift away in the current. He splashed himself, then plunged his head underwater and scoured his scalp with his fingertips. He liked the feel of his short-cropped hair. Well, not cropped exactly. The fire must've burned him absolutely bald, so the new growth was short and even. Same with his beard. Which gave him a different look than back in Rockbridge; another tiny triumph.

He floated in the pool, guiding himself with slow backstrokes. He'd learned to swim when he'd worked as a hayward's helper, checking the fences and livestock and fields. Well, and the swimming hole. That was one reason he'd been fired: too much floating, not enough fencing.

When he stood in the pool, the soft mud of the bottom oozed between his toes. Then he dropped underwater. He liked the embrace of the uncaring water, the silent peace. Swaying in the dimness. He brought the sparks into the pool with him, concentrating until he felt his connection to them grow stronger. Trying to add the weight of the water to the weight of the mountain in his core. He didn't notice any change, but he enjoyed making the attempt.

The world turned into a graygreen weightlessness.

He floated there, blowing slow bubbles from his mouth. He sent the sparks inside the bubbles, to touch the air of his breath, then through them. He whipped them in fast circles around himself, making tiny streaks and tunnels in the water; building his strength, playing with his breath, letting his thoughts settle like silt to the stream bed.

He'd killed the marquis of Rockbridge. He'd done it. Laranya had saved his life--again. And she'd insisted that he couldn't return to the trolls. Maybe he believed her. Maybe not. Still, he figured that spending time away from the mountain made sense, even if his blood gently drew him toward the deep chambers, the flowery boulevards of the upperways and--

No. He couldn't return, not yet.

Partly because backtracking toward Rockbridge would've been reckless even without Lady Pym on the warpath. Partly because he needed to live among humans again, if he wanted to retain his humanity. And he did. He was sure of that. Almost sure. But mostly because Laranya thought she knew his purpose. She knew 'the reason for him.' Which was nonsense. He didn't know that himself. No matter how much he'd told her while drugged, she couldn't know the why of him.

Still, whatever she imagined his purpose was, he'd take it seriously. He'd consider her words. He owed her that much. Plus, right now he needed someone who understand what a ... a mutt he was. What a mess. He laughed underwater, and the bubbles carried his amusement away. He needed someone who knew all of him, yet didn't recoil.

Maybe, in the end, that was all anyone needed.

When he stood in the pool, water sheeted down his chest. The forest sounded loud after the submerged silence. He climbed from the pool, took three steps across the forest floor, and--

"Bury my bones, Eli!" Laranya gasped.