In contrast to Moriana's grim mood, those minsithen shone cheerfully, each a bright yellow star inset in five rounded petals of blood-rich maroon, enriching the air with subtle scents. The trees were deciduous, mostly sturdy spreading anhak, their bark as brown and shaggy as a hornbull in winter coat. Interspersed with the anhak rose stands of Upland tai, straight, slim yellow boles as graceful as elf dancers against the great gnarled shapes of their neighbors. Birds molted to show rainbow colors to the new season and sang to the travellers.

But neither the Princess nor Darj had eyes or ears for the splendor all about them. The bulk of the Sky City army had hurried south the day after Chanobit, but that did not mean she and Darl were spared the horrors of pursuit. With breaking of the weather, the war eagles once more had the freedom of the sky. They could range north to harry the refugees and then wheel southward to catch up with the lumbering columns of dog riders and infantry in time for a hot supper and boots of mulled wine. Moriana's every sense concentrated upward, eyes scanning the sky for sight of wings outstretched in the distance, ears cocked for the cry of a death-giving war bird carried to them on the spring breeze already laden with the smell of spring flowers and moist fertile earth. She wished Darl would rouse from his stupor long enough to take some of the burden of the searching off her.

If anything, his depression grew worse with every mile. His thoughts turned inward and he seldom responded, even when directly spoken to. After two days, Moriana ceased trying to communicate with him. She decided it was best to let him work alone through his depression, if he could. She knew no magic to pull the man back to the world outside his skull. Darl seemed momentarily a lost cause to her, lost like the battle, lost like her precious City, lost, lost, lost.

On the third day, they approached the juncture of Chanobit Creek and the River Marchant.