Tavin arrived walking beside the last loaded wagon.
He did not wave when he first saw Iven. He pointed at the wheel line, waited until the driver had cleared the final turn and only then lifted his hand.
Iven went down to meet him.
The captain’s coat had been patched across one elbow with a darker cloth. Mud had dried on his boots in three different colors. His beard looked as though he had trimmed it with a knife while somebody argued about the next halt.
“Thirty-eight days,” Tavin said.
“Good road?”
“Very educational.”
They caught each other by the forearm, then pulled into a brief hard embrace that made Tavin grunt.
