Amber sat next to him, and closed her eyes in exasperation. "He certainly isn't any more polite than last time," she thought. It was true what he had said, though. Forklandish legend claimed god's son and daughter had created the rivers that divided into a fork, and lead all the way to the ocean. Other religions had always fascinated her, as her father had tried to explain them to her. She'd ended up with the local beliefs, as was customary.

Her thighs were sore from having ridden with no saddle. There had been no time to put one on her horse, and riding for so long had made it a painful ride. She was relieved when Gregar stopped, as she didn't want to stop on account of any problem she had. A minor one, too.

She thought about dozing off, but then someone might ambush them or steal their supplies. She decided to keep watch until Gregar woke up. She thought about Tomas, maybe he'd follow the same road? Or had he... Best not to think about it. She played around with her dagger, planting it in the ground. After a while she got up and paced around, humming the hymn of the Forklands. It was a beautiful tune, usually sung by a woman accompanied by a group of harps. Forklandish women often sang it to their childrens in their cribs. Soldiers had their own rowdy version of it to lift their spritis up.

Finally, she got tired of waiting, and stepped up to Gregard, lightly shaking his shoulder. "Wake up, Oakheart"