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ssions； he picked up his pack； which had pillowed his head； and took it with him。
The morning was chilly； a light scatter of snow in the air。 Stretching the kinks out of his muscles； he walked slowly to the fire； where Binabik sat talking to Sisqi。 The pair were seated side by side before the low； translucent flames； their hands clasped。 Thorn lay propped on a tree stump beside them； a dull black bar that reflected no light。 From behind； the two trolls looked like children talking earnestly about a game they might play or an interesting hole they might explore； and Simon felt a strong protective urge toward them。 A moment later； as he realized they were probably discussing how to keep Binabik's people alive if the winter did not abate； or what they should do if more giants found them； the illusion shredded and blew away。 They were not children； and if not for their bravery he would be dead。
Binabik turned and saw him staring。 The little man smiled a greeting as he listened intently to Sisql's rapid Qanuc words。 Simon grunted； bending to take the lump of cheese and heel of bread that Binabik pointed out； set on a stone near the fire。 He took his meal and went to sit by himself。
The sun； still hidden from view behind Sikkihoq； was not visible。 The mountain's shadow lay over the campsite but the tops of the mountains in the west glowed with the sun's rising light。 The White Waste below was sunk in gray dawn…shadow。 Simon took a bite of dry bread and chewed as he stared out across the Waste at the distant line of forest which lay on the horizon like dark cream in a milk pail。
Qantaqa； who had been lying at Binabik's side； got up； stretched； and padded silently toward Simon。 Her muzzle was red…flecked with the lifeblood of whatever poor animal had surrendered itself for her morning feeding； but the last traces were even now being scoured away by her long pink tongue。 She approached Simon briskly； ears up； as if on some clearly…defined errand； but when she arrived she only stood for a moment to let him scratch her； then curled up beside him； exchanging one napping spot for another。 Her bulk was such that when it pushed against his leg he was almost forced off his stone seat。
He finished his meal and opened the flap of his pack； rooting for his water bottle。 A bright tangle of blue came up with it； wound on the carrying cord。
It was the scarf Miriamele had given him； the one he had worn around his neck on the way up the dragon…mountain。 Jiriki had removed it while nursing him back to health； but had thoughtfully stowed it with the rest of Simon's meager belongings。 Now it lay in his hands like a stripe of sky； the sight brought the sting of almost…tears to his eyes。 Where in the great world was Miriamele？ Geloe； in their brief moment of contact； had not known。 Where in Osten Ard was the princess wandering？ Did she ever think of Simon？ And if she did； what did she think？
Probably： 〃Why did I give my nice scarf to a dirty kitchen boy？〃 He enjoyed a brief twinge of self…pity。 Well； he was not just any scullion。 As Sludig said； he was a kitchen boy who sworded dragons and slew giants。 Just at this moment； however； he would rather be a kitchen boy in a nice warm kitchen in the Hayholt and nothing more。
Simon tied Miriamele's scarf about his neck； tucking the ends under the collar of his tattered shirt。 He took a swallow of water； then rummaged in the pack again； but could not find what he was looking for。 He remembered after a moment that he had put it in his cloak pocket and felt a moment of panic。 When would he learn to be more careful？ It could have easily fallen out a hundred times。 He was happily reassured to feel its outline through the cloth。 After some digging； he lifted it out into the morning light。
Jiriki's mirror was icy cold。 He buffed it on his sleeve； then held it up； staring at his reflection。 His beard had e in more thickly since he had last surveyed himself。 The reddish hairs； almost brown in the dim light； were beginning to obscure the line of his jaw…but the same old nose poked out above the beard； and the same blue eyes stared back at him。 Being a man； it seemed； would not mean being anything other than a slightly different type of Simon； which was a faintly saddening thought。
The beard did hide most of his spots； so there was something for which to be grateful。 But for a blemish or two on his forehead； he thought he looked like a reasonable approximation of a young man。 He tilted the glass； staring at the white streak burned into his reddish locks by the dragon's blood。 Did it make him look older？ More manly？ It was hard to tell。 His hair was curling on his shoulders； though。 He should ask Sludig or someone to cut it shorter； as many of the king's knights had worn theirs。 But why bother？ They would probably all be dead at the hands of giants before it grew long enough to get in his way。
He lowered the mirror to his lap； staring down into it as though it were a pool of water。 The frame was finally beginning to warm beneath his fingers。 What was it Jiriki had told him？ That the mirror would be no more than a mere looking glass unless Simon needed him？ That was it。 Jiriki had said that Simon could talk to him 。 。 。 with the mirror？ In the mirror？ Through the mirror？ It had not been clear at all； but for a moment Simon very much wanted to call for Jiriki's help。 The thought crept over him unbidden； but its claws were not easily dislodged。 He would call Jiriki and tell him that they needed help。 The Storm King was an enemy that mortals alone could not defeat。
But the Storm King is not here； Simon thought； and Jiriki knows everything about the situation that he needs to。 What would I tell him？ That he should e running back to the mountains because a kitchen boy is scared and wants to go home？
Simon stared into the mirror； remembering when it had shown him Miriamele。 The princess had been on a ship； staring out over the railing at cloudy skies； gray and cloudy skies。。。
As he watched his own face in the upturned mirror； it suddenly seemed that he could again see that misty sky； tatters of cloud floating across the mirror's surface obscuring his features。 A fog seemed to be drifting past him； and he could no longer separate himself from the image in the looking glass。 He wavered dizzily； as though he were falling into the reflection。 The noises of the camp diminished and then disappeared as the mist became a solid and featureless curtain of gray。 It was all around him； shutting away the light。。。
The gray mist slowly dissolved； like steam escaping from beneath a pot lid； but as it cleared he saw that the face before him was no longer his own。 Staring back at him through narrowed eyes was a woman…a beautiful woman who was both old and young at the same time。 The lines of her face were shifting； as though she gazed up through rippling water。 Her hair was white beneath a circlet of gemlike flowers； her stare burned like molten gold； the eyes bright and reflective as a cat's。 She was old； he somehow knew； very old； but there was little about her face that spoke of age； only a tightness in the line of her jaw and mouth； a brittleness to her features as though th