With the coming of dawn, the symbelyia return to their silent repose in the hidden places of the forest, and the star-laden vigil of the night gives way to the light-bathed radiance of the day. And this night, for the first time since their departure from Ristfand, was one of complete rest and security, and they all rise now feeling not only refreshed but encouraged and consoled, though they cannot explain to themselves why, beyond gestures to a mysterious presence or companionship that had remained with them throughout the night. And as they prepare to depart with the rising sun, this companionship does not flee away, but rather, as it were, takes up its abode in the deep and inaccessible recesses of the heart, hidden from thought and perception but true nonetheless.
The snow is now hard and icy, and their feet sink but an inch or two into its surface as they pass, making progress much easier. Despite the fact that the morning is bitterly cold, the chill feels somehow weak and unobtrusive, for the air is still, without even a breath of wind, and the atmosphere is clear with the sun shining free and warm in a deep blue sky. But perhaps it is the lingering light and warmth of the symbelyia accompanying them that truly keeps them warm even in the biting air. Either way, they make steady progress once they leave the forest, climbing the far side of the basin and finding a narrow gorge that cuts between two rough shelves of stone. It leads to the northwest, the direction they wish to go.
And so they travel, with what speed they may, along the path that unfolds before them. In a matter of days, their rations begin to run out, and, though they have been sparing even since the beginning of their journey, they find it necessary now to skip meals or to eat but a bite or two in order to prolong what they have as best they can. Rorlain and Eldarien keep their eyes ever alert for animals that they may hunt, but it is two days before they come across anything. Thanks to his long-practiced skill with the bow, Rorlain is able to fell a wild fox at a range of thirty yards. It is a small animal and provides only a modicum of sustenance for a couple days, but it is immeasurably better than nothing.
Gradually the gorge that they follow widens out into an expanse of land descending before them from the bosom of the mountains toward a massive valley that lies far below, shrouded in mist, And on the far end of the valley, nearly at the limit of sight, the land arises again toward mountains in the far distance.
"Those peaks," Eldarien comments, "are those of the Teldren range. We have come to Teldyn Pass. After weeks of wandering through the mountains, I was afraid that we had lost our way. But how fortunate we are to emerge in the precise place that it was our wish to find. Of course, we may be too far in one direction or another, but as long as we find ourselves in the pass, it should not be too difficult to navigate our way toward the forest that we seek."
"Let us also hope that there is good hunting," Rorlain adds, "for we shall need sustenance for the rest of the journey."
"I am confident that there shall be."
"Or a village," Tilliana says unexpectedly.
"Aye, that would be even more fortunate, though it is unlikely," Eldarien says, turning to her.
"Perhaps not," she replies with a smile, and she gestures toward a spot in the distance, far below them, where the swirling mist parts for a moment and reveals tiny specks of brown against the white landscape, with trails of smoke swirling from them into the air in vibrant contrast to surrounding pallor.
"You are right. That does indeed look to be such," Eldarien laughs. "Let us set our course for the settlement then, shall we?"
† † †
It takes them two days to reach the settlement, a hamlet of no more than a dozen houses, nestled at the edge of a grove of trees on a wide outcropping of earth and stone that juts from the gradually descending slope of the mountain. It seems an unusual or at least a rare place to erect a village, difficult of access, and also lacking in any wide spaces of fertile ground, but also provideing a breathtaking view of the valley below and most likely a great deal of seclusion from the tumultuous affairs of the surrounding world. They enter the hamlet in the midafternoon and are within a matter of moments hailed by one of those who live here.
"Greetings, travelers," says a man's voice, followed by his figure stepping forth from the shadow of a house into the wide lane that passes through what appears to be the central, or the only, street of the hamlet, if street it can be called. "We rarely receive visitors in these parts. Please state your business."
"Hail and well-met," Cirien replies, stepping forward from the group as if mirroring the man's movements. "We come in peace and benevolence. We did not know of this town until happening upon it in our journey. We seek simple reprieve and a replenishment of some of our supplies, and then we shall be on our way."
"And who might you be?" the man asks, crossing his arms over his portly stomach and unconsciously twitching his mouth beneath a scraggly blonde beard.
"I am Cirien Lorjies, grandmaster of the order of Niraniel, whose headship is in the city of Ristfand," he replies, and, with a bow of his head, he adds, "At your service."
The man thoughtfully scratches his chin for a moment and looks deeply at the five strangers, and then he asks, "And your companions?"
They each introduce themselves in turn, all the while the man's expression remaining mostly impassive, though betraying a subtle hint of both curiosity and concern. "And what," he says at last, "is a grandmaster of the order of Niraniel and his companions doing so far away from the normal avenues of travel? This is not a place one just happens upon in the course of one's journey, unless one's journey is unusual."
"We sought to pass through the mountains in order to shorten our journey to the west," Cirien replies.
"And how did that fare?"
"It was a tougher path than we wished, though we did attain our goal of making it through the mountains, as you see, as well as of sparing time in doing so."
"And what need have you of haste?" the man inquires.
"Have you yet heard of what happened in Ristfand not long ago?" Rorlain asks, entering the conversation.
The man looks at him and, shaking his head, says, "I fear I do not."
"Then your hamlet is out of the way indeed. It was assaulted by Imperial forces and their new 'allies,' and the battle was a bloodbath. We pass to the west in hopes of sparing more lives."
"I would ask how you intend to do so," the man says, "but this does not seem neither the time nor the place. We know here of the war and the pain it is causing to our people, but it affects us little."
"Before long, it will affect us all, even in the most hidden and secluded villages such as this," interjects Eldarien. "Though I wish it were not so. Our hope is precisely to spare people such as yourself and places such as this."
The man nods, as if processing these words.
"We would be willing to tell you more, if you show us to a place where we may rest for the night and restock our provisions," Rorlain says. "We are capable of paying what is fitting."
"Aye," the man replies, absentmindedly. "But what is this you said about 'allies'? I did not know that the Empire had summoned allies against our people."
"Allies they are," Cirien says, "though not of the sort one would expect. They are not living men but beasts. That, too, shall take time to explain. Perhaps the leader of your village would wish to join this conversation, if you have one."
"Not formally," the man answers, "though I suppose I am the closest to such. Ûldren Grandis, at your service."
"Well met," Cirien says again, and his companions echo similar words.
"I hope so indeed," Ûldren affirms, "for you speak of beasts, and though the war we have no acquaintance with, beasts are another matter. Or rather, a beast. Not a couple weeks ago."
"Of what do you speak?" Eldarien asks.
"A creature not seen in this age of the world. A dragon, we think it was, though only a few of us saw it, and at a great distance. It flew high in the sky above us, and at great speed, to the north."
"You were correct," Eldarien affirms. "Of this, too, we shall speak. It eases my heart, though, that you only saw him pass at a distance and were not...more closely acquainted."
"Unusual things are happening in our land," Ûldren sighs, "and it seems that you are caught up in them, travelers, if my sense is not false. Please, let us go to my home. We can speak further there, and I shall also provide you a space for both nourishment and rest."
With the thanks of the five companions, he leads them into a nearby house, to the curious gazes of a number of other villagers who are outside, engaged in daily activities despite the heavy snow. The interior of the house is warm and inviting, though reposing in a kind of dim half-light illumined only by the flickering red hue from the burning hearth and from the pale rays of sun upon snow shining in through the partly shuttered windows. A woman sits near to the hearth, cradling an infant in the crook of her arm and rocking back and forth slowly as the child sleeps.
"Dreya, we have visitors," Ûldren says as he enters the house. And as she seeks to rise to greet them, "No, no, please sit. We shall join you, if you please. I suspect that they have news about your dragon and about much else besides."
"Very well," she replies, "though allow me to lay the child down to rest. I fear waking her otherwise."
After she has done this, introductions are exchanged between all, and they gather chairs to sit together near the hearth.
Before the conversation has progressed, Eldarien notices that Dreya is looking at him with an almost uncomfortable curiosity, and, when their eyes meet for a moment, she lowers her gaze.
"What is it?" he asks her. "You look at me almost as if you know me."
"How could I?" she replies. "I have never met you before."
"Then what do you see?"
"The scars."
"Oh, yes," says Eldarien. "Though I now give them little thought, expecting that they have greatly healed, they must still be a sight and a distraction."
"No, it is not that."
"What then?"
Ûldren responds in place of his wife, "They look not unlike those of the old paintings and illustrations upon which so many of us, in this village and elsewhere, were fed from childhood."
"I know not what you mean."
"Surely you do," Dreya says. "You are a Telmerin, and by the looks of you from the clan of Galapteä. Our people originally hail from that region as well, though the dragons in the Teldren mountains drove us away centuries ago.
"I am," replies Eldarien. "That is...uncannily perceptive of you."
"Your look is very distinctive, and that makes your arrival with word of dragons even more curious, even if it is only circumstantial."
Elmariyë laughs softly at Eldarien's side and places her hand momentarily upon his shoulder, saying to their hosts, "Eldarien is many things, most of which he seems almost entirely unaware. But that is what is so beautiful about him."
They nod, as if in understanding, and then Dreya continues, "I look at you with such curiosity because your scars greatly resemble those from the paintings and illustrations of the 'scarred king.'"
"The scarred king?" asks Eldarien.
"Yes. He is a legend among our people. Surely you know that? The king to at last unite the clans of Telmerion after centuries of strife, in whose veins flows the blood of the ancient rulers."
"That I am certainly not," Eldarien replies, "but the coincidence is interesting nonetheless. I would like to see some of these illustrations, if you have access to them, at another time."
"That can be arranged," Ûldren says, "though for now let us hear the account of these five travelers, and what they can tell us of the affairs of our nation. I am sure that my wife shall also be curious to know the truth of the creature she saw in the sky—though I admit I myself did not see it—and which she and a few others claim to be a dragon. You seem to agree with their assessment?"
"It is certain," Rorlain answers. "We were witnesses to it at close-hand."
"Close-hand? Then your tale is more interesting than I even guessed it would be. Please, tell us all you think fitting."
† † †
After a thorough and yet discrete recounting of the events that have led to their presence in the hamlet—from the first encounter with the druadach in the barrow of Sera Galaptes through the assault of Ristfand to the wiles of the Lord of Mæres—they gather around the table for supper. Ûldren and Dreya are visibly concerned by their account, and understandably so, even though they withheld many of the details that would be most disturbing or frightening.
"This dragon of which you speak," begins Dreya, "do you know what its intentions may be? I could not imagine otherwise than that it is dangerous. And yet it did not seem concerned with attacking us...or perhaps even anyone else for that matter."
"I do not know if it has any intentions, or if it is capable of such, having no will of its own," answers Eldarien. "As far as we have witnessed and come to understand, all of these creatures of darkness are but tools in the hands of other forces. They are vessels by which our true enemies act in this world."
"That Lord of...what did you call it?...is he one of them?" asks Ûldren.
"The Lord of Mæres? Yes, he is."
"What is a mære?" Dreya inquires.
Cirien answers this question, "A mære, as far as we understand by the lore that we still have from ages past, is a spirit of the night who seeks to instill fear in those who sleep or to assault them with terrors in the darkness. From such does our word 'nightmare' derive, though not all nightmares are caused by such spirits. We know not but that they exist and that they are capable of such action. Perhaps the Lord of Mæres is indeed the only one, and he calls himself so because he is the lord of the terrors of the night; or perhaps there are indeed many spirits like unto himself, though lesser in power and authority."
"Either way, it is a frightening prospect," Ûldren sighs.
"Indeed," says Cirien, "though I think that you have little to fear in this regard. They seem to interfere directly very little nowadays, and, according to our experience, their influence may be geographically limited. Or at least they seem to take interest only in those who in some way deserve to be a target of their malevolence."
"That is not particularly consoling."
"I suppose not…"
"What is more consoling," says Elmariyë, "is that the most they are capable of is influence. No terror or oppression, however deep it may be, can take control of the seat of your own freedom, the liberty of your own heart. There you always remain in the hands of your own counsel, in the sanctuary where you are alone before the gods, and in their custody. Nothing can take you from their care, and nothing can pull you from their communion either, except be it your own choice to do so."
"That would be consoling if the thought of the gods was a consoling one," Ûldren comments. "Not all of us find the presence of the divinities to be a safeguard and a refuge. Many, I think, wish that they would leave us alone. Many think that they have meddled far too long in the affairs of humankind. For me, 'spirits of darkness' and 'spirits of light,' they are all the same. They toy with us as a child does with dolls or bugs, raising us up or casting us down, using us or abandoning us for their own pleasure and for nothing else."
"I am sorry that you feel that way…" Elmariyë sighs, and, lowering her eyes, she opens her mouth to say more, but the conversation surges forward again, and she soon loses the opportunity to speak more on the subject.
Dreya says, "I heard that dragons still live in the mountains to the north. They never die, it is said—or at least of natural causes. So when they chased us out of our home all those centuries ago, they did so permanently. Unless, of course, some hero is to arise who can slay dragons. Do you think that is where the dragon I saw went: to join with others of his kind?"
"Unfortunately, we have no way of knowing," answers Cirien.
"And yet you go to the foot of the mountains, do you not?" Ûldren asks.
"We do indeed," replies Rorlain. "But I do not expect anything in the area to have changed as of yet. A dragon flies to the north, but other creatures arise from the earth that travel on foot, and they are much nearer at hand. If they seek destruction, I fear for the people of your village, as well as all who dwell in the Yjind Mountains. And eventually, all who dwell beyond."
"But they may have another purpose entirely," Eldarien interjects. "It is not certain. The last time they attacked, it was as a unified force in conjunction with the Imperial army. Perhaps they shall bide their time until they do so again."
"Or perhaps not…" Ûldren says bitterly.
To this, Eldarien can only nod silently. After a moment of heavy silence that saturates the air around them, Tilliana speaks for the first time, as if until now she has been too shy or uncomfortable to make her voice known. "I would hope that the people of this village would seek refuge elsewhere, at least until this war has come to conclusion. Forces of darkness are amassing, and the conflict between nations is of small import in comparison with the conflict between light and darkness that is coming upon us more swiftly than a tidal wave at sea."
Ûldren raises his eyebrows as he looks at her, surprised to hear her speak and to speak so insistently. But then he says, with the same bitterness as a moment earlier, "And how do we know that this war shall ever reach conclusion, or that the conclusion shall be in the favor of the maggot called man? We are weak among the creatures of the earth, and if only the strong survive, then we shall die out long before these other beasts of which you speak."
"With such an attitude, the war is already lost," says Eldarien, anger rising in his voice. He leans forward and looks intently at Ûldren, a fire in his eyes. "If any man is to die when confronted with forces stronger than himself, it will be more through his cowardice and his impiety than through anything else."
"You speak in such a tone to your host, the one who has opened his home to welcome you, even though you bring no proof that anything you say is true or even any signs of your trustworthiness." A fire burns in Ûldren's eyes now as well, though of a different sort, and his anger, almost like a flammable substance ready to explode, differs greatly from the restrained intensity of Eldarien's indignation.
"Now Ûldren, please, let us calm down," says Dreya swiftly, placing her hand upon her husband's arm. "Perhaps you are both right in your own way."
"Many things, dear, are either true or not, are either right or wrong," Ûldren replies. "If he has the wrong of it, then why may I not call him out?"
"If that is the case," Dreya says softly, her voice almost inaudible, "then it is you who are in the wrong and he who is in the right. He speaks of courage and of piety, and his speaking comes from his life. But you speak in cowardice and fear, and your words reveal your dispositions."
Shaking his head, Ûldren rises from where he sits and turns toward the door of the house, pushing his wife's hand away. Quelling the anger in his voice, he says simply, "I am going to step outside for some fresh air. I will return in a while." And so he does, the bitter cold from outside sweeping into the warm house when he opens the door and lingering for a while even after he has closed it again.
"I am sorry that you had to witness that," whispers Dreya.
"There is no need for apology," says Eldarien. "It is I who first allowed my temper to flare, and for that I am sorry. I apologize also that I was a cause of conflict between the two of you."
"Oh no, it is not the first time. He is scared, scared of many things, and I only wish I had the words to be able to help him."
"Sometimes even the best of words can do very little, or perhaps nothing at all, to help those whom we love," Eldarien says gently. "He is walking his own journey, and maybe only time and experience, and the hidden work of the light in his heart, can change what seems unchangeable."
Dreya's eyes glisten for a moment, betraying tears that well to the surface before being restrained, and then, lowering her gaze, she says, "It is...difficult.
"You fight a little war of your own," says Eldarien. "And I want you to know that your fighting, as humble and hidden as it may be, is a participation in the great struggle of humankind, of the light against the darkness. Every little moment, every little conflict, every little victory that you live, is not insignificant in that great battle. Rather, it is part of it: an essential and profound part of it."
She nods but is unable to summon any words in response.
Eldarien concludes by saying, "Nonetheless, even as I speak of war, remember: your husband is not your enemy. You cannot gain victory over him any more than you can change him. The enemy is of another sort, another kind, one of which I am confident you know the nature quite well."
"And we shall pray for you," Elmariyë interjects, "not only for your victory against this mysterious enemy of every human heart but also for you to find peace and repose even in the midst of conflict. For if life contains struggle, pain, and difficulty, it is never only that, never primarily that. You were made for life, and I wish that such you live—life to the full and life abundantly—even in pain."
Dreya looks at the travelers who have entered her home, and, finding words at last, she says, "What good fortune, what an undeserved blessing, that you would come under my roof today! It has strengthened my heart and instilled in me courage that I myself lacked, and stirred in me a longing for piety too. I thank you. I thank each one of you from the depth of my heart."
"And thank you, Dreya, for your hospitality...and, above all, for your vulnerability, for your openness of heart," Cirien says. "We are also glad that this home, this family, was the one to receive us."
After this, the silence of the room is punctuated by a soft cry from the corner, where the infant has been asleep.
"Oh, it looks like my little Anisa is hungry and needs to eat," Dreya exclaims. "It is getting late as well. Let me feed her, and then I shall help to prepare a place where you may retire for the night."
"Very well," Cirien says, rising to his feet. "But it is bitter cold outside. Allow me to go find your husband and make sure that he is well."
"I would appreciate that, thank you. Why do you not take this with you?" Dreya asks, handing Cirien a thick blanket. After receiving it, he steps outside, the chill immediately washing over his body and draining the heat from it. Darkness has long fallen and day has fully given way to night. Low-hanging clouds, moving slowly in the nocturnal breeze, block out most of the sky. In only a few places do they part, allowing patches of twinkling stars to show through, before swelling into grayish darkness once again. But the partial moon, waning now after the full moon that they had beheld in the forest of the symbelyia, shines even through the densest sections of cloud, a glowing halo of light surrounding it.
The air encompassing him is luminous enough that Cirien is able to see the buildings of the hamlet with ease, as well as the distinctive landmarks that enfold it: trees on one side, climbing up the slop to the south, and, to the north, a vast valley immersed in darkness that falls for miles below them before rising again, almost at the edge of even daytime's sight, to the Teldren Mountains. A figure stands silhouetted against the vast space of the valley, his back turned to Cirien; and yet it is not difficult to see that the figure is Ûldren.
Cirien walks forward and is surprised that, despite his boots crunching loudly against the icy snow, Ûldren does not turn or indicate that he hears his approach. When he comes within a few feet of the man, he says, "I have brought you a blanket. It is not much, but it will help to fight a bit of the cold."
With this Ûldren turns, and his face is visible, if dimly, in the darkness. "Oh, thank you," he says, taking the blanket and wrapping it around his body. "I was so caught up in thought, I did not even notice your arrival."
"It is well that I mean you no harm, then," says Cirien.
"Indeed," Ûldren says quietly, and Cirien hears him breathe deeply before continuing, "I apologize for my earlier behavior. I should not have spoken so to guests in my own house."
"All is forgiven, friend," replies Cirien. "You spoke of what your heart feels and believes, and I would not have you do otherwise."
"But you, grandmaster of the order of a goddess, surely disagree with me firmly and vehemently. Why would you want to hear me blaspheming all that you hold dear?"
"It does not matter whether I wish to hear it or not, but rather a matter of whether or not you carry it within you. For never would I wish for you to silence the spontaneous voice of your heart. The heart is the guide and the custodian of our freedom. Even if the voice of the heart is at times muddled and confused, it alone can lead us forward unto truth."
"My heart leads to no such thing," Ûldren retorts, "or rather, it tells me almost without ceasing that the truth I face is absurdity and loss. I try to stand against it, but it is as though gazing into a black abyss and trying to will meaning into it...whereas I know that there is nothing, nothing but loss and death."
"Is that what you see when you look into this valley in the dark of night?" Cirien asks.
"That is what I see when I look at it and at many things besides. But why do we speak like this? You have no place to address me with such intimacy on our first acquaintance. But I suppose your kind is accustomed to this, always trying to give answers to others' problems, walking around with ready-made solutions in your hands to be dispensed at the first sign of opportunity."
"Is that what you think faith is?" Cirien asks, his voice soft and kind. "A pat-answer to the questions and tragedies of life? A way by which hurting man tries to give a stamp of meaning on a meaningless world, or tries to scrounge for some semblance of control where control slips from his grasp?"
"That is true, yes," answers Ûldren, "and yet it is a farce. For in grasping for control, man actually loses it: he enslaves himself to these mysterious, uncontrollable, and arbitrary powers, which he blindly gives the name of gods. Why give yourself to another in such a way? Light and darkness. Good and evil. What are they, anyway, but forces beyond both our comprehension and our control? We don't really know what they are. It is impossible to know. The best we can do—all we should do, in my opinion—is to live as best we can in the time we have. All the rest is a gamble one is sure to lose, or one not worth taking, at any rate."
"You do indeed feel strongly about this," responds Cirien, running his hand absentmindedly through his long white beard, all the while looking upon the dark figure of Ûldren standing out stark against the valley behind him. "But you speak more kindly now than you did earlier: or rather, you speak less with anger and more with honest complaint. I thank you for this. For one should speak with respect even of what one does not believe—though this respect may often look like harsh condemnation. For evil and falsehood must truly be called such, with words fitting to the gravity of the sickness."
"And you suppose that I shall agree with you that this was what that other man—Eldarien—was doing? He was speaking firmly of an evil that he saw, condemning it with his superior knowledge?"
"I think, rather, that he was hurting at the fear he saw holding you captive," Cirien says, "and at the way that the fear blinds you to the only source of true consolation. For I said that the voice of the heart alone can lead us unto truth. But this—the true voice of the deepest heart—is a voice, not of fear, of self-protection, but of trust and desire. The heart seeks to lead us out, beyond ourselves, to the repose that lies in the great embrace of reality and of the author of reality, holding us."
Hearing these words, Ûldren turns quickly away and looks out again over the black valley before him. After a long moment of silence in which Ûldren neither moves nor speaks, Cirien says, "Forgive me. I did not mean to press."
"All your kind knows how to do is press."
"Very well. Then I shall leave you now. Or would you rather come in out of the dark and the cold?"
Ûldren sighs deeply and, pulling the blanket tight around him, replies, "Let us go."
Together the two men return to the house; they feel the warmth of the interior envelop them as they step inside. It is dark now, with no light but that given by the flickering fire of the hearth and by a small oil lamp set upon a table nearby. Sleeping-pallets are laid out on the floor in the open space between the kitchen and the hearth, whereas the bed of the house's inhabitants is on the other end of the room, engulfed in almost complete darkness. They bid one another good night in silence, and then Cirien approaches the sleeping places, all of his companions already covered in their blankets and either asleep or preparing for sleep. Eldarien, who sits with his knees drawn up to his chest, looking into the dancing flames of the fire, turns and nods at Cirien as he approaches.
"You look as if you intend to keep the nocturnal watch even here in the security of the house," Cirien comments with a subtle smile.
"Sleep still escapes me most of the night," replies Eldarien, though the tone of his voice is not one of regret, of complaint, but of simple observation. Perhaps it is even a tone of gratitude and wonder, as illustrated further by his following words, "And yet despite the fact that I sleep so little, I feel no need for more. It is like I am living ever more profoundly on a force of life and vigor far deeper than my own. It has always been there, inside of me, and yet only now have I learned to tap into it. Or rather no...that is not the best way to say it. Only now has my heart been opened to allow it to pour itself into me."
"Elmariyë is the same, is she not?" Cirien asks, sitting down on a sleeping-pallet near Eldarien.
"Yes. It seems as though the silence and serenity of the night is our true home, even more than the daylight. Or rather, it is like our hearts are longing for the stars, which are visible only when all else has descended into obscure repose, or like they are yearning for the echo of silence which can be heard only when the noises of the world have been stilled."
"Well then, I will leave the yearning and the vigil to you. As for myself, I am exhausted and intend to get a full night's rest, as much as I may," Cirien remarks, placing his hand kindly upon Eldarien's shoulder. A knowing smile passes between the two of them and a mutual affection that has grown surprisingly strong and deep in the short time that they have known one another. Then, lying down and pulling the blanket around him, Cirien closes his eyes and allows the soft crackling of the fire and the breathing of his companions to lull him into restful sleep.