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ng heavily； and felt the chill air suck the warmth away from his exposed face as abruptly as if he had been fitted with a mask of sleet。
Suddenly aware of the enormity of trying to stay warm during the wintery night to e…and of the fact that if he decided wrong； he might not wake up the following morning…he was spurred to a feverish renewal of his efforts。 He shored up the snow wall； making it a little taller and much thicker； then built a lower wall supported by tree trunks on the other side of the first pile of branches。 He raced around the copse cutting more branches…his gloves were now so resinous that he could not sepa… rate the fingers； and could only remove his hand from his knife by stepping on the blade first…until the height of both piles equaled that of his windward wall。 By now it was almost too dark to see even the great trees were rapidly blurring into murky smudges against the near…luminous snow。
He lay down on his bed of branches； bending his knees and pulling his long legs up against his body so that they would benefit as much as possible from being wrapped m his cloak； then began to pull the remaining branches over himself。 He tried his best； with clumsy； sticky fingers； to weave them together so that there were no large exposed areas； and ended by reaching awkwardly up through the hemlock blanket to drag the last few branches over his head。 He then turned his face sideways so that it was mostly hidden in his hood。 The position was miserably unfortable and unnatural in the extreme； but he could feel his own warm breath whispering in the pocket of the hood； for this little while at least； he stopped shivering。
He had been so exhausted when he lay down that Simon expected to be asleep in a matter of moments； despite the tickling branches and his cramped legs。 Instead； he found himself growing gradually more wakeful as the first hour of night wore on。 The cold； while not as sharply biting as when he had earlier walked through the forest into the teeth of the wind； nevertheless sneaked through his meager shelter and seeped down into his bones and flesh。 It was a dull and relentless sort of cold； patient as stone。
The chill was bad enough； but though the thunder of his breathing and the drumbeat of his heart were loud in his ears； he could hear other； stranger noises as well。 He had forgotten how differently the night forest sounded when no friend slept nearby。 The wind moaned achingly through the trees； other sounds seemed ominously stealthy； yet were loud enough to be heard even above the lamenting wind。 After all the horrors he had seen； he harbored no idle hopes that the night was innocent of dangers… surely he was hearing damned souls crying in the storm； and lumbering Hunen prowling the forest in search of warm blood！
As the night marched on； Simon felt black dread rising once more。 He was all alone！ He was a lost； doomed fool of a mooncalf who should never have dabbled in the affairs of his betters！ Even if he survived the night； even if he was spared the clutches of some gibbering； faceless nightwalker； it would only be to starve m the daylight！ Certainly he could last a few days； perhaps weeks if he was lucky； but from what Binabik had told him it was many leagues to the Stone of Farewell…and that was assuming that he knew how to get there at all； and could find his way through Aldheorte's unsympathetic depths to do so。 Simon knew he did not possess the woodcraft to survive a long exile in the wild： he was no Jack Mundwode； not even close。 Similarly； there was almost no chance that anyone who could help would pass through this remote part of the northeastern forest； especially in such hellish weather。
Worst of all； his friends were long gone。 In the middle of the afternoon he had suddenly found himself m a fit of panicky shouting； repeating their names over and over again until his throat felt rough as a butcher's block。 At the last； just before his voice gave out； he thought he had been screaming the names of the dead。 That was the most frightening thought of all； a path that ran very close to the abyss： shout for the dead today； speak to them tomorrow； join them soon after…in a living death of irredeemeable madness if nothing else； and that might be worse than actually dying。
He lay beneath the branches and shivered； but no longer from only the chill。 Darkness rose within him and Simon struggled against it。 He didn't want to die yet； that he knew…but did it matter？ There seemed to be nothing he could do about it one way or the other。
But I will not die here； he decided at last； pretending for a moment he had been offered some choice。 He felt for his own desperation and began to smooth it down and push it back； quieting it like a frightened horse。 I've touched dragon blood。 I won a Sithi White Arrow。 It all means something； doesn't it？
He didn't know if it did all mean something； but he suddenly wanted very much to live。
I won't die yet。 I want to see Binabik again； and Josua 。 。 。 and Miriamele。 And I want to see Pryrates and Elias suffer for what they did。 I want a home agaw； a warm bed…oh； merciful Usires； if you really are real； let me have a home again！ Don't let me die in the cold！ Let me find a home 。 。 。 a home 。 。 。 let me find a home。 。 。 ！
Sleep was conquering him at last。 He seemed to hear his own voice echoing down an old stone well。 At last he slid away from cold and painful thoughts into a warmer place。
He survived that night and six more nights after it； each followed by a morning of terrible； frigid stiffness； of solitude and increasing hunger。
The unseasonal cold had killed many of Spring's children in the womb； but some plants had managed to bud and flower in the brief； false season of warmth before the deadly winter returned to stay。 Binabik and the Sithi had both given him flowers to eat； but Simon had no idea if there were right or wrong kinds of flowers。 He ate what few he could find。 They did not fill him up； but neither did they kill him。 Patches of bitter yellow grass… very bitter…had survived beneath some of the snow hummocks as well； and he made full use of all he could find。 Once； in a moment of starved unreason； he even tried to eat a handful of fir needles。 They tasted astoundmgly dreadful； and the sap and his own froth made a sticky； half…frozen mess of his downy beard。
One day； when his longing for something solid to eat had bee a maddening obsession； a chill…baffled beetle wandered across his path。 Rachel the Dragon had held a very firm line on the almost incalculable filthiness of such vermin； but Simon's stomach had bee a far more powerful force than even Rachel's training。 He could not let this opportu… nity pass。
Despite his hollow gut； the first one proved very difficult。 When he felt the tiny legs moving within his mouth； he gagged and spit the beetle into the snow。 Its aimless kicking made him want to be sick； but a moment later he snatched it up again； then chewed and swallowed it as quickly as he could。 The beetle's texture was that of a delicate； slightly flexible nutshell； the taste little more than a musty tang。 When an hour had passed with none of Rachel's dire predictions ing to pass； S