Three mornings later, from the stone turn, Iven could see one of Sera’s shoulders and the back of Ishon’s head.
Everything else lay around the bend.
The lamp’s long reflector reached farther than his eyes. He moved it when Sera asked, holding the warm handle in both hands. Water ticked from the ledge beneath her boots. Somewhere beyond the wall, the younger Marcher breathed with a slow rasp that made the tiny flame lean.
“Higher,” Sera said.
He raised the reflector.
“Hold that.”
He held it.
An insect landed on his cheek. He left it there until it flew away.
