His pearl, in his hand, glowed. A moon, a drop of luminosity, a handheld guide of foxfire. It let him see each step.
He thought of a phrase, a face. Someone who’d said something, once. To Cade himself: I thought maybe out of everyone you would’ve also seen—
Seen magic, he thought. Because magic was real. This was real.
He was aware that he should remember that someone’s face. He tried, but it seemed unimportant. Some tiny piece of his brain shouted that this might be a problem. He ignored this in favor of discovery. He did not have to care. He did not need to think of the land, not now.
A strange hollow pain flickered under his breastbone, in his chest, but he did not focus on it, so it went away, or he thought it did.