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mething he should not fear。
When he turned to reenter the cave； he had chosen at least the first outlines of his new road。
He did not attempt to bury the woman； he had no digging tool and no desire to offer any injury to the soil of the Forest。 He wore her robe in part to show his respect for her； but he could not think of any other gesture to make toward her。 He wanted to apologize for what he was doing…for what he had done…but had no way to make her hear him。 At last he placed her on her bed； arranged her stiff limbs as best he could to give her an appearance of dignity。 Then he found a sack among her possessions and packed into it all the food he could find。
After that； he drank the last of her water and left behind the jug to save weight。 With a pang of regret； he also left behind the pot of graveling； he knew he would want its warmth； but did not know how to tend it。 The knife which lay oddly in the center of the floor he did not take because he had had enough of knives。 Remembering Lena； he lightly kissed the woman's cold； withered cheek。 Then he shrugged his way out of the cave； muttering； as if the word were a talisman he had learned from her sacrifice； 〃Mercy。〃
He strode away into the day of his new prehension。
He did not hesitate over the choice of directions。 He knew from past experience that the terrain of Morinmoss sloped generally downward from northwest to southeast； toward the Plains of Ra。 He followed the slopes with his sack over his shoulder and his heart hollow…steady because it was full of lacks； like the heart of a man who had surrendered himself to the prospect of a colorless future。
Before he had covered two leagues； daylight began to fail in the air； and night fell from the clouds like rain。 But Morinmoss roused itself to light his way。 And after his long rest； he did not need sleep。 He slowed his pace so that he could move without disturbing the dark moss； and went on while the Forest grew lambent and restless around him。 Its ancient uneasiness； its half…conscious memory of outrage and immense bereavement； was not directed at him…the perennial mood of the trees almost seemed to stand back as he passed； allowing him along his way…but he felt it nonetheless； heard it muttering through the breeze as if Morinmoss were breathing between clenched teeth。 His senses remained truncated； winter…blurred； as they had been before his crisis with Pietten and Lena； but still he could perceive the Forest's sufferance of him。 Morinmoss was aware of him and made a special exertion of tolerance on his behalf。
Then he remembered that Garroting Deep also had not raised its hand against him。 He remembered Caerroil Wildwood and the Forestal's unwilling disciple。 Though he knew himself suffered； permitted； he murmured 〃Mercy〃 to the pale； shining trunks and strove to move carefully； avoiding anything which might give offense to the trees。
His caution limited his progress； and when dawn came he was still wending generally southeast within the woods。 But now he was reentering the demesne of winter。 Cold snapped in the air； and the trees were bleak。 Grass had given way to bare ground。 He could see the first thin skiffs of snow through the gloom ahead of him。 And as dawn limped into ill day； he began to learn what a gift the white robe was。 Its lightness made it easy to wear； yet its special fabric was warm and fortable； so that it held out the harshness of the wind。 He considered it a better gift than any knife or staff or orcrest…stone； and he kept it sashed gratefully around him。
Once the tree shine had subsided into daylight； he stopped to rest and eat。 But he did not need much rest； and after a frugal meal he was up and moving again。 The wind began to gust and flutter around him。 In less than a league； he left the last black shelter of the Forest； and went out into Foul's uninterrupted spite。
The wilderness of snow and cold that met his blunt senses seemed unchanged。 From the edges of the Forest； the terrain continued to slope gradually downward； through the shallow rumpling of old hills； until it reached the dull river flowing miserably into the northeast。 And across his whole view； winter exerted its gray ruination。 The frozen ground slumped under the ceaseless rasp of the wind and the weight of the snowdrifts until it looked like irreparable disconsolation or apathy； an abdication of loam and intended verdancy。 In spite of his white robe and his recovered strength； he felt the cut of the cold； and he huddled into himself as if the Land's burden were on his shoulders。
For a moment he peered through the wind with moist eyes to choose his direction。 He did not know where he was in relation to the shallows where he had crossed the river。 But he felt sure that this river was in fact the Roamsedge； the northern boundary of the Plains of Ra。 And the terrain off to his left seemed vaguely familiar。 If his memory of the Quest for the Staff of Law did not delude him； he was looking down at the Roamsedge Ford。
Leaning against the wind； limping barefoot over the brutalized ground； he made for the Ford as if it were the gateway to his altered purpose。
But the distance was greater than it had appeared from the elevation of the Forest； and his movements were hampered by wind and snow and hill slopes。 Noon came before he reached the last ridge west of the Ford。
When his gaze passed over the top of the ridge and down toward the river crossing； he was startled to see a man standing on the bank。
The man's visage was hidden by the hood of a Stonedownor cloak； but he faced squarely toward Covenant with his arms akimbo as if he had been impatiently awaiting the Unbeliever's arrival for some time。 Caution urged Covenant to duck out of sight。 But almost at once the man gestured brusquely； barking in tones that sounded like a distortion of a voice Covenant should have been able to recognize； 〃e； Unbeliever！ You have no craft for hiding or flight。 I have watched your approach for a league。〃
Covenant hesitated； but in his hollow surety he was not afraid。 After a moment； he shrugged； and started toward the Ford。 As he moved down the hillside； he kept his eyes on the waiting man and searched for some clue to the man's identity。 At first he guessed that the man represented a part of his lost experience in the Forest and the woman's cave…a part he might never be able to prehend or evaluate。 But then his eyes made out the pattern woven into the shoulders of the Stonedownor cloak。 It was a pattern like crossed lightning。
〃Triock！〃 he gasped under his breath。 Triock？
He ran over the hard ground； hurried up to the man； caught him by the shoulders。 〃Triock。〃 An awkward thickness in his throat constricted his voice。 〃Triock？ What are you doing here？ How did you get here？ What happened？〃
As Covenant panted questions at him； the man averted his face so that the hood sheltered his features。 His hands leaped to Covenant's wrists； tore Covenant's hands off his shoulders as if their touch were noxious to him。 With unmistakable ire； he thrust Covenant away from him。 But when he spoke； his barking tone sounded almost casual。
〃Well； ur…Lord Covenant； Unbeliever and white gold wielder。〃 He invested the titles with a sarcastic twang。 〃You have not e far in so many days。 Have you rested well in Morinmoss？〃
Covenant stared and rubbed his wrists； Triock's anger left a burning sensation in them； like a residue of acid。 The pain gave him an instant of doubt； but he recognized Triock's profile beyond the edge of the hood。 In his confusion； he could not think of a reason for the Stonedownor's belligerence。 〃What happened？〃 he repeated uncertainly。 〃Did you get in touch with Mhoram？ Did you find that Unfettered One？〃
Triock kept his face averted。 But his fingers flexed and curled like claws； hungry for violence。
Then a wave of sorrow effaced Covenant's confusion。 〃Did you find Lena？〃
With the same hoarse casualness； Triock said； 〃I followed you because I do not trust your purpose…or your panions。 I see that I have not misjudged。〃
〃Did you find Lena？〃
〃Your vaunted aim against the Despiser is expensive in panions as well as in time