Merek was the last one standing, and he did not know why he was still standing.

The others had gone. Ravik first, then Tibault with that flat little joke on his mouth, then Isen without a word — three backs going into the Thornwilde and the bond still humming in four chests like a wire that had been cut and had not noticed yet. Merek should have gone with them. He had every reason to, and he had spent the whole night being reminded by the dragon under his skin that the woman on the ground was the woman who had sold his gifts one by one.

He knelt anyway. He got his arm under her, and it hurt badly, and he stood up.

he said, mostly to himself.

The road home took the rest of the night. He did not speak on it and he did not set her down, and when the house came out of the fog he was still carrying her, and he had not forgiven her, and he understood exactly what that meant: he was the only one of the four who still thought there might be somebody in there worth the walk.