ose their nocked arrows.

    “’s title—usually, I mean?  are to toucone, once again s customs.

    “In my day . . .” toucone replied slotention mostly on t, “in my day—Elder—for this size of village.”

    “e ed Sabriel. Sed at t advancing behind her, and added, “Before darkness falls!”

    “ait!” came too, Sabriel realized t.

    turned in a fees, an older man urned ss to quivers. toucone, seeing to maintain t , ted, leaving a momentary rainbow.

    t, as itle, ter. Long ention of terested courage of one already close to death.

    “anding above ters like some prop of legend, he rising breeze.

    “ do you ?”

    Sabriel opened o ans  toucone arted to speak. Loudly.

    “I am toucone, sands before you. Are arrows your welcome for such folk as we?”

    t for a moment,  eyes focused on Sabriel, as if rip ay or illusion by sight alone.

    Sabriel met  out of to toucone.

    “ makes you t a friendly approacter? And since when are you my sworn—”

    Sopped, as t to speak and spat into ter. For a moment, s t t as neitoucone reacted, it .

    “times,” to leave our firesides for t for seaencorangers and travelers are rare in sucimes, and not alhey seem.”

    “I am tantly.

    “Enemy of the Dead.”

    “I remember,” replied the old man, slowly.

    “Abo put dos t t brouger curse him.

    Ab coat you’re en-fathere was a sword, also . . .”

    antly. Sabriel stood, silently, ing for o go on.

    “s to see toucone said, vo