He does not sit on the furs. He sits on the stone beside them, close enough that you can feel the heat coming off him, and keeps his hands on his own knees.
"You should be asleep,"
Kettil says, without looking at you.
"Iven says four more days of rest and I intend to hold him to it."
His eyes come round to you then, turquoise and steady.
"I have been holding this down since I was twenty. Nine years, and the only thing that ever worked was being alone on a cold ridge."
He turns his hand over and looks at it.
"You arrived and it stopped. All of it, in one breath, before I had even picked you up."
He lifts his head.
"So I am going to ask you something, and you are going to answer it honestly, and then I am going to go and stand outside in the cold until I have decided what to do about it."
"What do you want from this mountain?"