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read out around bird nests to cloak the branches； moss and grass and small woodland animals increased among the trees。 A defying spirit was abroad in this place…resisting cold； nourishing growth； affirming Morinmoss's natural impulse toward buds and new sap and arousal。 It was as if the ancient Forestals had returned； bringing with them the wood's old knowledge of itself。
Yet even in its secret heart Morinmoss was not impervious to the Despiser's fell influence。 Temperatures rose above the freezing point； but failed to climb any higher。 The leaves had no spring profusion； they grew thinly； in dark bitter greens rather than in hale verdancy。 The animals wore their winter coats over bones that were too gaunt for true spring。 If a Forestal had indeed returned to Morinmoss； he lacked the potency of his olden predecessors。
No； it was more likely that the monolithic Colossus of the Fall had shrugged off its brooding slumber to take a hand in the defenses of the Forest。 And it was more likely still that Caerroil Wildwood was reaching out from his fastness in Garroting Deep； doing what he could across the distance to preserve old Morinmoss。
Nevertheless； this lessening of winter was a great boon to the trees； and to the denizens of the Forest。 It kept alive many things which might have been among the first to die when Lord Foul interdicted spring。 For that reason among others； the Unfettered Healer trudged onward with Covenant on her back。 The defying spirit had not only tolerated both her and him； it had summoned her to him。 She could not refuse。 Though she was old； and found Covenant painfully heavy； she sustained herself by sucking moisture from the moss； and plodded under him toward her home among the secrets of the Forest。
The tree shine had lapsed into dim gray dawn before her journey ended at a low cave in the bank of a hill。 Thrusting aside the moss which curtained its small entrance； she stooped and dragged Covenant behind her into the modest single chamber of her dwelling。
The cave was not large。 It was barely deep enough for her to stand erect in its center； and its oval floor was no more than fifteen feet wide。 But it was a cozy home for one person。 It had fort enough in the soft loam of its walls and its beds of piled dry leaves。 It was warm； protected from the winter。 And when other lights were withdrawn； it was lit in ghostly filigree by the tree roots which held its walls and ceiling。 In its underground safety； her small cookfire was not a threat to the Forest。
In addition to the low embers which awaited her against one wall； she possessed a pot of graveling。 Dropping Covenant wearily on the bed； she opened the graveling and used some of its heat to resurrect her fire。 Then she set her stiff old bones on the floor and rested for a long time。
It was nearly midmorning when her fire threatened to die out。 Sighing dryly； she roused herself to stoke up a blaze and cook a hot meal for herself。 This she ate without a glance at Covenant。 He was in no condition for solid food。 She cooked and ate to gather strength for herself； because her peculiar power of healing required strength…so much strength that she had exhausted her reserves of courage before reaching middle age； and had left her work to rest in Morinmoss for the remainder of her days。 Decades… four or five； she no longer knew…had passed since she had fled； and during that time she had lived in peace and reticence among the seasons of the Forest； believing that the ordeals of her life were over。
Yet now even Morinmoss had bestirred itself to bring her work back to her。 She needed strength。 She forced herself to eat a large meal； then rested again。
But at last she rallied herself to begin the task。 She set her pot of fire…stones on a shelf in the wall so that its warm yellow light fell squarely over Covenant。 He was still asleep； and this relieved her； she did not want to face either his mad talk or his resistance。 But she was made afraid once again by the extent of his sickness。 Something bone…deep had hold of him； something she could not recognize or understand。 In its unfamiliarity； it reminded her of old nightmares in which she had terrified herself by attempting to heal the Despiser。
The acute fracture of his ankle she did understand； his cold…bitten and battered hands and feet were within her experience； and she saw that they might even heal themselves； if he were kept warm for a long convalescence； his cheeks and nose and ears； his cracked lips with the odd scar on one side； his uncleanly healed forehead； all did not challenge her。 But the damage the amanibhavam had done to his mind was another matter。 It made his sleeping eyes bulge so feverishly in their sockets that through their lids she could read every flick and flinch of his wild dreams； it knuckled his forehead in an extreme scowl of rage or pain； it locked his hands into awkward fists； so that even if she had dared to touch his white gold she could not have taken it from him。 And his essential sickness was still another matter。 She caught glimpses of the way in which it was interwoven with his madness。 She dreaded to touch that ill with her power。
To steady herself； she hummed an old song under her breath：
When last es to last；
I have little power：
I am merely an urn。 I hold the bone…sap of myself；
and watch the marrow burn。
When last es to last；
I have little strength：
I am only a tool。 I work its work； and in its hands
I am the fool。
When last es to last；
I have little life。
I am simply a deed： an action done while courage holds：
a seed。
While she strove to master her faintheartedness； she made preparations。 First she cooked a thin broth； using hot water and a dusty powder which she took from a leather pouch among her few belongings。 This she fed to Covenant without awakening him。 It deepened his respose； made rest and unconsciousness so thick in him that he could not have struggled awake to save his own life。 Then； when he was entirely unable to interfere with her； she began to strip off his attire。
Slowly； using her own hesitation to enhance the thoroughness of her preparations； she removed all his raiment and bathed him from head to foot。 After cleaning away the cobwebs and grime and old sweat and encrusted blood； she explored him with her hands； probed him gently to assure herself that she knew the full extent of his hurts。 The process took time； but it was done too soon for her unready courage。
Still hesitating； she unwrapped from her belongings one of her few prized possessions…a long； cunningly woven white robe； made of a fabric both light and tough； easy to wear and full of warmth。 It had been given to her decades ago by a great weaver from Soaring Woodhelven； whose life she had saved at severe cost to herself。 The memory of his gratitude was precious to her； and she held the robe for a long time in hands that trembled agedly。 But she was old now； old and alone； she had no need of finery。 Her tattered cloak would serve her well enough as either apparel or cerement。 With an expansive look in her loamy eyes； she took the robe to Covenant and dressed him tenderly in it。
The effort of moving his limp form shortened her breathing； and she rested again； muttering out of old habit； 〃Ah； mercy； mercy。 This is work for the young…for the young。 I rest and rest； but I do not bee young。 Well； let that pass。 I did not e to Morinmoss in search of youth。 I came because I had lost heart for my work。 Have I not found it again…in all this time？ Ah； but time is no Healer。 The body grows old…and now cruel winter enslaves the world…and the heart does not renew itself。 Mercy； mercy。 Courage belongs to the young； and I am old…old。
〃Yet surely great matters are afoot…great and terrible。 White gold！ …by the Seven！ White gold。 And this winter is the Despiser's doing； though Morinmoss resists。 Ah； there are terrible purposes…The burden of this man was put upon me by a terrible purpose。 I cannot…I must not refuse。 Must not！ Ah； mercy； but I am afraid。 I am old…I have no need to fear…no； I do not fear death。 But the pain。 The pain。 Have mercy…have mercy upon me； I l