her name softly.
"Paks? What's wrong?"
Paks moved to Arñe's post and leaned on a tree. "Nothing—it seems strange not to be marching somewhere, that's all. I keep thinking we've got him, but I thought that before."
"I know. For awhile it seemed we'd been marching a year, and would go on forever, but—"
"It hasn't been that long. We did start early—"
Now Arñe sighed. "We did indeed. I tell you, Paks, I don't feel the same. It's only our third year, but I feel older—I feel there's been more than a year between this campaign and last spring. Do you remember when we came to Rotengre?"
"Yes. I know what you mean. We were so glad to be second-years—but we knew we weren't really veterans. And then Dwarfwatch—"
"Yes. Dwarfwatch. Then Rotengre. Then this." Arñe sighed again.
Paks pushed herself away from the tree. "Well—it'll be over soon. We'll feel different when he's dead, and when we've had some rest."
"I hope so," said Arñe soberly. Paks walked on, still thinking.
The next day was as quiet as the first. No one grumbled about missing the action at the citadel, but Paks knew many shared her fears: what if he doesn't come this way? What if others make the capture? By nightfall they were edgy and watchful. Paks and Sunnot had both slept during the day, so they'd be on together.
Night chill made Paks shiver suddenly between guardposts. She looked at the tunnel mouth and saw nothing. She felt distinctly colder; she wondered if a weather change was coming. She pulled her cloak closer around her, and leaned into a tree trunk. She felt a breath of cold air drift down the slope, chilling her face. Her cloak was warm. She yawned, suddenly sleepy despite the cold. Her mind wandered.
All at once a sharp prick, like a thorn, stung her chest. She jerked her eyes open, realizing in that instant that she'd been almost asleep. She looked quickly around and saw nothing. She started to relax, and realized that she should en