Chapter 58

The keening wind pierced his ears as he trudged on. It was their third day in these mountains and he hadn't gotten used to it yet. The ever-present gales whistling through the crevices. Benjen told him it would calm down as they rode farther in. Kober said the best of the Free Folk trackers used the windsong to find their way out of the Frostfangs in a bind. The closest one was to an exit, the louder one heard the eastern wind.

Macha made no comment on the subject and Tiresias could only trust them. He was used to a still forest, not this. His sensitive ears still attempted to discern any danger from the wind. But everyone in this party seemed to know where they were headed. They seemed grim, not uncertain, as they trekked the twists and turns of the Frostfangs westward, coming to Orell's final flight.

Tiresias withheld any inputs on their direction. He didn't know these mountains and he certainly couldn't find his way out of here without the Free Folk or the rangers. Even a few days in. Yesterday, he stood before a hidden valley with a beautiful view. He thought back to Jon and a bound Ygritte as they walked together through these mountains. They were lucky to have survived out here until they ran into the Free Folk.

Unlike that duo, his group made little conversation. That was established quickly before they entered the Frostfangs.

The Milkwater had a gentle current near the Fist. Though it was still loud enough to drown out their heartbeats as they crossed it. Tiresias was thankful. It made it easier not to focus on the path ahead.

For a bit anyway. They were on the other side before the sun was even up. He barely had time to be wistful before they mounted their horses again and began to ride up into the Frostfangs.

Tiresias glanced back to the Haunted Forest. That was the safest part of their trek. Orell saw something in these mountains that melted his mind. He hoped it was the Night King. He also hoped it wasn't.

He rode second in their caravan today, right behind Macha. Near enough to question. He leaned forward.

"So this is Skirling Pass?"

"One of them," she responded quietly. "Skirling Pass isn't just one pass. It's not the Giant's Stair. It's a whole bunch of them."

"So this one is nearest to where Orell flew last?"

"It'll get us there. It's not the hardest. Not the easiest either. But it's less traveled. The Milkwater's the easiest path. You saw it from the Fist yesterday. We'll see it again if we trek far enough north on this path."

Tiresias had no more questions on the subject. Perhaps sensing his finality, Macha paused her mount and turned back to the whole group.

"From here on in, it's whispers all day from everyone," she said. "Don't talk unless you have to. The snow will halt your voice some, but not nearly as much in the forest. The mountains will carry it far."

He didn't know about that. The wind seemed to drown out everything. But he wasn't eager to test it. This wasn't his domain. Until they encountered trouble, he had nothing to contribute. Instead he kept his eyes high on the rocks above them. The horse carried him through the twisting path, leaving him free to watch for ambush.

The afternoon ended with a stiff neck. Nothing but the wind. And despite that, he was sure he heard no scurrying above them. Not from a man, dead or alive. Not from the paws of an animal.

He was rubbing his neck when Macha signaled and they came to a halt. They were at the end of the pass. She dismounted and crept forward, out of sight. Tiresias stroked his horse's mane, not taking his eyes from the front. He had worried about an errant neigh alerting an enemy ahead. These worries were abated the first day in the Haunted Forest. The steeds were selected well; stoic and silent in the cold.

Tiresias hoped they would hold against the dead.

Macha reappeared, waving to them as she climbed back on her horse. The corner was clear. Tiresias sighed as they begun to move forward. The same thing, corner after corner, day after day. No sign of them. Each passing day without them both relieved and worried him. Their packs weren't bottomless and food would be a concern after a fortnight. It would also be best to capture their target while only a few days in. It wouldn't do to be trapped in the depths of these mountains.

Coming to the end of the pass, his breath hitched. He was expecting a grand vista. Instead he came upon a mountain lake, golden with the late afternoon sun. And a meadow surrounding it. It wasn't tall grass but wildflowers, coldsnaps, frostfires and piper's grass. Durable vegetation poking through a thin layer of snow.

"Can we eat any of that?" he muttered to Tormund.

"The horses can. You'd shit it out whole." He nodded to the lake. "Might try a fish there. We need a rest anyway."

It seemed to be the mindset of the whole group. Macha led them just off the path, behind boulders where they wouldn't be seen right away. Once dismounted, Benjen spoke up.

"I think we can risk a fire here. A small one. For warmth. Not just fish." He gestured to the crag bordering the lake. "This whole area's just a pocket. The glow wouldn't reach over the top. Darkness would cover the smoke. And whoever's on watch can smother it if they hear anyone coming from the pass."

Nobody objected. Though he didn't share it, Tiresias could sense the growing discomfort from the others. Night after night with no heat other than their own. A small fire in this place was a good risk.

Kober and Karsi went farther past the boulders to fish without being so instructed. The hopes of the group trailed behind them. That trout on the Fist seemed three weeks ago, not three days. And their last fire…

Tiresias felt eyes on him as he prepared the small woodstack, everyone fighting their impatience to be heated. But once it was constructed, they had to wait. They carried as much firewood as they dared from the Haunted Forest. They had to save it for the fish and for the late evening.

At least the horses seemed relieved. Macha, Qhorin, Clatton and Gared led the horses out on the field as they grazed. Tiresias watched them feed. They didn't object to the harsh foliage. Perhaps they could bundle some up and stretch out the horse feed a little more.

His thoughts halted when he heard something down by the water; Kober swearing repeatedly. Looking up, he saw Benjen and Tormund hadn't reacted to it. Either the wind died down this evening or his hearing had adjusted. Or both.

Either way, he stood.

"Something wrong?" Benjen asked.

"Nah." He took off, walking to the water. "Just going to check up on Karsi and Kober."

No objections followed him. Why would they? They were all free up here.

Rounding the boulder, out of sight from the meadow and the camp, he walked through the sparse trees and saw the two fishers staring down into the water. He came upon them just as Karsi slapped Kober on the shoulder.

"Gutted a thousand fish before you had hair on your balls! Never dropped a blade!" She whispered furiously. "So what? Now's the time you lose a knife?! The wrong fucking knife too!"

"I didn't mean to!" he whispered back. "Gods, I just…I just…"

"Hey, you two," Tiresias said quietly. Kober jumped as he approached. "What's going on?"

Kober didn't respond. He looked more angry with himself than Karsi did. She already took a deep breath and spoke calmly, though the ire was still there.

"Kober dropped his dragonglass into the water."

"It was an accident," he muttered, shame creeping into his voice. "I just…I picked up that bastard there to gut." He pointed feebly to the pile of four fish on the ground. "I reached down and drew a blade. I thought it was just me old dagger, but it wasn't. I had it to the fish when I realized it was the dragonglass. I stopped, had a laugh at the fuck-up…'fore I could switch it, 'fore I even fuckin' lowered it…fish flopped in my hand and I…"

He exhaled. "I was standing too close to the water. It fell in…fuck!"

Tiresias stepped over the fish, kneeling at the water's edge. "Where?"

Kober's arm reached over him, pointing. "There. It's too dark to see, but it's there."

"It's lost, Kober" Karsi said behind them. "There's no getting it out. The bottom's too deep."

"We're right by the rocks. It's no more than twelve feet…"

"Still need to dive for it then, aye? C'mon, Kober. We're not risking anyone's heat for that. Ya fuckin' idiot…"

Tiresias peered into the depths. Even if the sun was completely out, he wondered if he could see it then. The water was so dark…

He stood. "Karsi's right," he said quietly. "It's all right. We have other dragonglass. Kober can take one of the spare blades. It's why they're there."

Remembering that fake smiles were easily detected beyond the Wall, he wiped his off before turning around.

"I have the pit all ready. Tinder just needs to be lit. Let's bring the fish back and have ourselves a real meal, aye? We'll laugh about this tomorrow."

Kober didn't say anything. Didn't even nod, but he set to work with Karsi as they rolled up the fishing twine and tied up their catch. They turned back to the camp, stopping a few feet when they realized Tiresias wasn't following them.

He pointed off. "Need to shit."

Kober turned back immediately, but Karsi peered at him suspiciously. He didn't even glance to the lake until they were both rounded the corner.

Once they were gone, he went immediately to the water's edge. Kneeling, he peered again to where Kober had pointed. The lake was calm. No current from what he could tell. It should have just drifted straight down. But it was a light dagger. Perhaps not.

"Shit," he hissed, looking to the west. The sun was almost gone. The tops of the surrounding crags were orange. Not that he would have much light down there anyways.

He tried to talk himself out of doing it. He had left the cache well enough alone on the Fist of the First Men, abandoned the idea of searching for it. They did have a few more dragonglass blades packed away. That was no lie. They were there for these situations. When their weapons were damaged or lost to them.

But this one's not truly lost, is it? It's down there. Within your reach.

And the longer he knelt here staring into the murky depths, the more he risked discovery. This had to be quick.

Marking the spot where Kober had pointed, he stood and began to strip. His skin practically sang as he pulled off his shirt. Asides from his watches when he was alone, he had worn his jacket non-stop since Castle Black. The freezing air of the Frostfangs, dangerous to bare skin, refreshed and calmed him.

At least for a few seconds. Then he caught a whiff of himself, a severe reminder that he had traveled for hundreds of miles over several weeks without bathing. They all must reek inside of their skins. If he had acclimated to the normal stink when they were clothed…

A small laugh came from that thought. It died shortly when he lowered his arms and looked to the water's edge. After a quick glance to make sure he was truly alone, he unbuckled his trousers and lowered everything. Including his smallclothes. He couldn't get anything wet. It would take much more firewood than they could spare to dry anything up here.

He stepped out of his pile of clothes, down to the rock where Kober had pointed down. His reflection stared back at him. He seemed…skinnier than before. And that was saying something.

Taking several deep breaths, he braced himself. Swimming was not his strength. And a small part of his mind screamed that this might be the time when he could lose his aversion to the cold. But the evening air still kissed him gently.

So taking a deep breath, he jumped, hoping there were no lake monsters in the Frostfangs.

True silence engulfed him. Any trances of the wind were gone. He came back up and breathed deeply, treading the water. His arms and legs weren't losing function. His heart didn't stop from the shock. It wasn't freezing. Just pleasantly cool. His aversion had held.

Still, he didn't wish to push it. The dark water still surrounded him. Taking a breath, he dove.

Pressure built around his ears as he swam down. Karsi estimated the bottom at twelve feet. It sure felt like more. He kicked and stroked cautiously. Light was increasingly precious the farther down he went and he was far too close to the rocks.

He felt the bottom before he saw it. It wasn't soft dirt unfortunately, but rocks. He released a little air and settled down on the floor. He had to be careful. If he accidentally hit the blade when it was perched precariously on a slippery stone, it could fall between the rocks. Then it would truly be lost.

Fear began to eat away at his mind as he began to grope gently in the dark, slowly moving his hand over the bottom. Fears of being blind underwater. And here he couldn't calm himself with his mother's technique. He couldn't breathe here.

Was he even in the right place? Did he swim down straight enough? Did he follow Kober's point?

How the fuck would Kober know if it had sank straight down?!

Something pressed around his throat. He couldn't breathe then. He couldn't breathe now…

Jolting his hand from the depths, he ran his hand around his neck. There was nothing. Just darkness and silence. He needed air. Placing his feet against the rock, he pressed up gently. Exhaling as he rose to the light.

One…two…three…four…

Tiresias broke the surface, holding onto the shore as he panted. He stared to the sky, already darker with night. He couldn't have been down there for more than forty seconds…

Shaking his head, he rubbed his throat and focused back on the water. The calm surface disrupted by his search. Clegane wasn't down here in the dark. He was dead. He'd stay dead. He was buried south of the Wall.

That got a small scoff out of him. Still breathing deeply, he flexed his fingers and toes. The water was still cool, not freezing. It was only fear. Not that he could dismiss it that easily. He still wasn't convinced there weren't monsters in this lake.

Well, the sooner you get that dagger, the sooner you can escape them.

Pushing off against the shore, he dove down again.

However deep it was, it took Tiresias much less time to reach the bottom. He kept his eyes open as he swam against the rock. Shapes came to him only a foot out but he could still see. Karsi and Kober did him the favor of fishing in a nook. Once he found the crag that went up to the shore, he scoured out.

The stones were small, but the crevices between them were truly dark. Not even he could see their contents. He ran his fingers slightly through them, but not too deep. Getting cut wouldn't be worth it. Not from the rock or a crayfish or a dragonglass dagger.

He exhaled an air bubble to stay flat on the bottom. Wondering if there was any way to mark his progress if he had to make a third dive, he continued slowly.

It certainly seemed that he would have to make another dive. There was no phantom gripping his windpipe thankfully, but his body couldn't last long down here. And it was affecting his search. The longer he stayed, the more frantic his hands blindly groped. For all he knew, he could have missed the dagger with his barely muted panic.

Tiresias released another pocket of air to stay level. One more incremental pass. He forced himself to move slowly, staring straight ahead. But nothing glinted in the darkness and his lungs were becoming heavy.

It looks like the lake monsters will have a third chance to get me.

Resigned to another try, he stood and pressed his feet gently against the rock. Except his left foot didn't step on a stone surface…

He froze. Whatever he stepped on didn't feel at all like the stone bottom he had explored. Careful not to jostle it, he released the last of his air as he knelt down. Hand to foot, he gently probed. His sole wasn't bleeding. It was pressed against something woven. Leather for grips.

Making sure he had a solid grasp on the object before he removed his foot, Tiresias brought it to his chest and kicked up. He had forgotten he was completely out of air.

He gasped as he came up, but he didn't wait to calm down before he kicked for the shore. He crawled up, out of the water, sitting down on the stone. Once safely out of the dark water, he held up his recovery.

Unless there was another obsidian knife lost to this lake, this had to be Kober's. He breathed deeply as he turned it over. A short dagger. A small weapon. One they couldn't afford to lose. They were lucky. Kober could have dropped it in the Milkwater. Not a dark, murky lake full of nightmares.

Tiresias laughed softly and wiped the water from his face. Panting, he looked out over the lake. His breath was a heavy fog. And he was still close to the water.

Suddenly paranoid that he could very well drop the dagger and lose it all over again, he stood and turned to get dressed. He stopped immediately. Karsi was standing ten feet away, staring at him.

Both regarded the other silently for a few seconds. Tiresias racked his brain for anything to say. Anything to explain.

But then he remembered Karsi already knew. Had already seen. Maybe not to this extent but she had seen.

Indeed, she didn't look shocked by his action. Not too much at least. She didn't even seem perturbed by his nudity. She glanced down to the dagger in his hand.

"You got it," she said, meeting his eyes again.

"Aye," he muttered.

"Are you at all cold?"

He shook his head. "No…just wet."

"How were you expectin' to dry? You can't use your clothes."

Tiresias shrugged. His breath wasn't completely back yet. "Didn't think that far ahead. Maybe I'll just air dry."

He knew he couldn't go back to camp dripping. Macha and Karsi knew he was fine against the cold. The rest of the Free Folk may have heard some rumors, but the Night's Watchmen…

He ran his fingers through his hair, flicking the water to the ground.

"I'll bring you one of the horse's blankets," Karsi said. "They'll be all right tonight with one layer. The fire will be enough. Will you be all right 'til I come back?"

Tiresias flexed his digits. He still had feeling. His teeth weren't chattering.

"Aye, I'll be all right." He held up the dagger. "How do we explain this?"

"We don't." Karsi turned and walked back to camp, leaving Tiresias naked by the water. He ran his finger along his arm. The quick dip in the lake didn't do much for him hygienically. Without soap, he would be nearly as filthy as he was when he dove in. The horse's blanket wouldn't help either in that regard.

Karsi returned quickly with the blanket. He traded the dagger for it and began to dry himself. It wasn't great but it would do.

"You just gonna hand it back to him?"

She shrugged. "Might just put it back in his saddle sheath when he's not looking. He'll stare at us funny, but he won't make any noise 'bout it."

He paused in the middle of rubbing his legs and looked pointedly at her. Karsi smirked.

"Wot? You shy?"

"Haven't had much privacy on this hike so far. Like to take what I can."

"Suit yourself." She glanced down before meeting his eyes again. "The cold doesn't really affect you, does it?"

Smart replies eluded him at the moment and he was left silent, hoping his face didn't betray him with a big dumb look.

Karsi smirked again before turning. "See you back at the camp."

He forced himself to start drying again before she disappeared around the bend. Not wanting to seem…well, he didn't really know. She wasn't trying a pass with him. He knew that. Her pulse was too calm. Asserting that he had already had a woman would only earn him a heavy eye roll.

Jesus, man. It was a joke. She was taking the piss. Teasing. You've not been so long without it.

Maybe not. Still Tiresias laughed lightly as he finished drying. The past few minutes were the first time since he left Castle Black when he wasn't consumed with the White Walkers. With their mission.

Before he dressed, he looked across the lake. To the surrounding crags, silhouettes against the night sky. The sun was gone now. No blue eyes shone out of the darkness. He sniffed. No trace of the dead. Not that he could tell. He still didn't know what they smelled like. Sam said there was no rot in the wights they brought back to Castle Black.

Either way he didn't smell any wasting flesh. Just the beginnings of lake trout cooking over a modest fire. He quickly dressed and went back, eager for a warm meal.

Tiresias felt Kober staring at him strangely since his convert swim in the freezing depths. Fortunately the man didn't question him on it. He was too distracted by their indulgence that night. One night with fire. One night with a fresh kill. One night when the horses ate even better than them and were strong in the morning. The stayover by the lake did wonders for them. Invigorated, they continued into the Frostfangs, along the twisting paths.

Macha chose their routes without any protest from the rangers. Sometimes they came to forks where she led them east or south. Though Tiresias did have questions, he bottled them up. They all seemed to verge back to their true course. Sure enough, when the afternoon came and Tiresias followed the sun, he noticed they were almost always pointed north.

They passed at least two valleys a day, but did not descend into any of them. The Milkwater was the goal. Once they came to it, they would follow it deeper into the Frostfangs. Where Orell flew last.

Their path there was deserted. Tiresias kept checking the rocks above for ambush. But there seemed to be no one left in the Frostfangs. This wasn't the story he remembered. The Free Folk had already set up their main camp north of the Wall and abandoned their homelands.

It made for an eerie ride. It reminded Tiresias of the White Knife, the three days of quiet before he encountered Locke. There he was alone with his own thoughts, prone to letting his guard down. It was easier to stay alert in this group. Everyone remained tense as they rode farther.

The route through the mountains didn't ease his anxiety. Between the slopes and their twisted labyrinth of a trail, racing back this way with a wight didn't seem to be the best plan. He especially thought so as they ventured carefully over a natural stone bridge. They had to dismount and lead their horses carefully over the ravine one at a time.

Everyone made it, but Tiresias heard their heartbeats through the whole ordeal. It took a while for them all to calm. A bound wight struggling on the back of one of their steeds as it crossed…it wasn't ideal to say the least.

He wasn't alone. As they mounted again, he caught more than one looking back to the ravine, to the stone bridge. Later that night, after draping the horses, he approached Macha and Qhorin, who were off muttering under the wind, staring across the peaks. They fell silent as he approached.

"Whatever horse is carrying our prize…it'd be a miracle if it can make it over that bridge back there."

They didn't look surprised. He treaded cautiously near the lookout and squatted.

"I suppose you two know that. One startled misstep and what we came for will tumble down into the ravine."

"We can't discount this path," Qhorin said. "It's a winding road, aye. But we're far less out in the open than we would be careening down the Milkwater."

"So you're set on this way for our return then?"

"I didn't say that." He removed his gloves and placed his hands under his shirt, warming them. "But if we can get our prize. And get away. And be sure we weren't noticed…then we'd be better off risking time instead of discovery."

"The Milkwater's risky," Macha interjected softly. "I told you that already. Where we'll be entering the valley…then to the west, deeper into the mountains, there's danger. Orell found that out for us. Then going east, back to the forest…"

She sighed, looking out. "I don't know. Racing alongside the river…we could run straight into a sea of blue-eyes. We can't know. We could be caught between them. And then it'd be too late to find this path again and disappear."

Tiresias followed her gaze. Tormund was right. From the Fist, the Frostfangs were beautiful when they shone under the night sky. Up close, in the midst of them, the moon caught the harsh crags and peaks. He felt a chill in his chest that had nothing to do with the cold.

Perhaps the Free Folk were right. Maybe there were dark gods under these mountains.

"Do you have anything to say about this? Something you haven't mentioned yet?"

He looked to Macha, but she had her eyes firmly on the range before her. To her right, Qhorin peered at him strangely, still warming his hands.

Tiresias hesitated. Benjen was the only black brother who was told full-stop about his visions. What he passed as visions anyway. If Qhorin knew anything about it, it was only rumors and whatever he picked up from the others. And he didn't know how much that was.

Still, Macha wouldn't have asked if it wasn't necessary. They were all here together in the cold. They had to trust each other to an extent. Besides, he had to be of some use. His gifts were here to be useful against the enemy. He may have recovered a lost knife but his invulnerability to the cold wouldn't serve others. They needed information.

So…a clairvoyant on the mountain he would be.

"I don't know if it's possible to get one away without the rest knowing," he murmured, staring into the dark. "This is an army with all the power descending straight down from one commander. He reanimates them. He powers them. He controls them. I don't know if he can see through all of them. Or if he even needs to.

"But if he can…there's a good chance that even if we act quickly and gag the wight so it doesn't screech and alert the rest…he may well detect it being dragged to Castle Black. South of the Wall…and that's risk enough for me to say we should take the quickest route home. Run as fast as we can."

Tiresias waited, still gazing out over the malevolent mountains but he heard no rebuttal. He turned and saw Macha gazing out as well.

"I'm sorry, Macha…but I don't know anymore. I told you the truth the first time we met. I'm a lousy prophet."

That prompted a small smile from her. Qhorin removed his hands and pulled his gloves back on. Tiresias resisted an urge to see how much of a hand he still had.

"Well…we'll have a chance soon to decide," he said, passing over the mention of prophecy and the Night King's necromancy. It was of no interest to him. "We'll find the Milkwater tomorrow night."

"Are we that close?"

"You can see it yourself," he said, pointing out. "Right there…"

Tiresias followed his point. A shadow behind a peak, but the top of the range continued and spanned his gaze. Once he saw it, it was obvious.

"That's the river valley." Qhorin lowered his arm. "We won't descend until the morning after…but aye, we're that close."

He kept staring. His eyes were certainly tricking him into thinking the valley was closer than it was. If the wind would soften, perhaps he would hear the water rushing in the distance. If he could concentrate. If he closed his eyes…

"You have the first watch, aye?" the old ranger asked.

"Aye."

"Well, you best move back toward the trail. It's a view all right, but there'll be no attack from here." He peered over the edge. "Slope's too steep for it."

Tiresias took his word for it, standing up gingerly and making his way back to the others. He didn't much enjoy staring down into the abyss. Floating in the depths of that lake was enough. Memories of silent darkness came to him a few times since. After a shudder, he shook his head to be rid of them.

All in all, he was happy for the first watch. He settled down out of view behind a stone under the sheepskin, exhaling silently. He craned his neck and looked to the stars. The mountains were frightening but it was the same night sky. The Crone's Lantern hung near the halfmoon.

He didn't stare for long before lowering his eyes and focusing on the path. His ears have finally acclimated somewhat to the wind. Or perhaps they were finally just deep enough in the Frostfangs. He casted his hearing out for any visitors. He'd listen for the Milkwater tomorrow.

As they descended into the river valley, the keening wind lessened. It belonged to the twisting paths high above them. Here, the Milkwater burbled from the west. Tiresias gave the peaks they rode from one last look before turning to his surroundings.

Compared to their scenery the past fortnight, this valley may have been the Reach for all its comforts. The running water, dirt that was only semi-frozen, even a few stubborn trees that had found root here.

The sight only unsettled him more. Not just him. They all knew what awaited them here. There was never at least one pair of eyes that wasn't watching the way westward.

He filled his waterskin in the river next to Clatton. Contrasting the rest, the large ranger stared to the east.

"Could be some that way too, aye?"

Tiresias took a draught before dipping his skin back in the gentle water.

"Maybe."

"And we could be caught with our cocks out in the middle. Right now." He sounded more resigned than anxious.

"Skins more like, but aye."

Clatton looked to his waterskin in the river before rolling his eyes.

"Clever, man. Clever." He stood into a light stretch, reaching up. "Ah well. It's not a bad place to die. Water, empty lands, no lords…"

"Cold."

"Maybe…I heard about men who die slow from the cold. Before they go, the gods are merciful. And their final moments are warm."

"Hm," Tiresias hummed. It had been a while since he studied hypothermia. He couldn't contribute on the matter in any case. What did he know of cold anymore?

Clatton lowered his arms, sighing as he turned back to the river. "All horseshit. Probably. Whether it's here now or Castle Black in twenty years…I'm not dying anywhere warm."

Now he truly had nothing to say. He was saved though when Tormund came through, hands on both their shoulders.

"Now we must be very quiet," he murmured. "Tiresias, come with me."

He followed Tormund back to his horse.

"How's your hearing?" he asked.

Tiresias listened for a bit. "It's fine," he spoke, matching Tormund's hushed tone. "The wind's not strong here."

"You'll be riding in front, next to Macha. If she and Karsi spoke true of the night you met…then we'll need your ears here. We can't be caught by surprise. We don't have the numbers."

Tiresias nodded, as he stepped into the stirrup and mounted.

"I'll be in the back. Watching our arses." Tormund patted his horse, smiling. "Beautiful day for a hunt."

He returned his smile briefly, dropping it as the man stalked to his own horse. The steeds have behaved so well this whole trip. He stroked the mane and scratched the neck.

C'mon, man. You're no spotted mare. But you've done good so far. Keep the whinnies to yourself a little bit more.

They crossed the river to the more spacious bank opposite and, with caution, proceeded deeper into the Frostfangs.