But the sight of Kalus brought her back: the look of worried
consternation, his desperate struggle as he wrestled with the steering
oar. She watched him for a time, unwilling, and it all came back.
Only once, on the first day she hunted with him, had she witnessed this
kind of ruthless determination, and through it, felt the harshness of
the world that had shaped such creatures: what he had called the hungry,
haunted look of a predator. So severe were his efforts, so wholly
single-minded, that despite her resolve to face the crossing bravely,
his unspoken fears began to rub off on her. And the rising walls to
either side of them, the quickening current they now entered, turned the
world ominous and forbidding once more. Almost she resented him for it,
as if his actions had somehow changed the very nature of the stream.
As for Kalus, he had said his prayer, and now set out with every weapon
at his disposal to make it unnecessary. Self-reliance remained the
golden rule of his existence, and he knew that all their lives were in
his hands. The hands of the Nameless, if they existed at all, were a
thing beyond his (or any man's) control.
But there was no more time for such thoughts. The Broad River was broad
no longer, its shore no longer peaceful and forested.
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