The others looked up at Sespheria, momentarily alarmed. They glanced around.

Shanju shrugged and went back to his lute. "I'm not worried about him. He's probably off doing whatever Westlanders do."

Sespheria crawled to a stand and walked away, searching. The others considered following, but decided that Sespheria had it in mind to go alone.

Meanwhile, H'akim was sitting at the banks of the river, with his long legs folded under him. He stared into the watery depths and slowly cleared his mind of the days events. Even as he tried to do so his thoughts were pulled back to that afternoon. He wasn't certain what had compelled him to tell the others of his past. He had barely met them; he knew next to nothing about them, and yet he would trust any one of them--even the Neffalite--with his life. But this had nothing to do with trust in battle, where lives could be on the line. What good would it do for them to know what had happened to H'akim when they were being surrounded by vicious rathum warriors? After meditating on the subject for a long moment, all he could think was that it had been to receive their pity. H'akim scowled and threw a pebble at the river with all this might. It hit the running water with a splash. He didn't want their pity. Perhaps some small, concealed part of his mind yearned for comforting, but that was a part of himself that he would gladly sever from himself. Pity wouldn't help him. Someone feeling sorry for him would not erase the past. He sighed. No matter how much he might want it, the past could not be erased.