Vencian's sight crept back in uneven patches. Color returned slowly, thin and washed, as if the forest had been left out in the rain. Greens looked tired. Browns blended together. He could tell where trees stood only because their shapes blocked the moon.
Each step earlier had felt guessed rather than chosen. Quenya had stayed close, tugging him when his foot drifted wrong. He suspected Seris missed it because she had been too still, folded inward, breathing shallow as sleep dragged her down. That small mercy stayed with him.
The device had taken more than strength. It had taken certainty. His head still rang in a dull way, like something knocked loose and rolling around.
Between his thoughts, Seris murmured.
