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pses 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 lack the courage for this work。〃
Yet Covenant lay on her bed like an irrefusable demand molded of broken bone and blood and mind； and after she had dozed briefly； she came back to herself。 〃Well； that too I must set aside。 plaint also is no Healer。 I must set it aside； and work my work。〃
Stiffly； she got to her feet； went to the far end of the cave to her supplies of firewood。 Even now； she hoped in her heart that she would find she did hot have enough wood； then she would need to hunt through the Forest for fallen dead branches and twigs before she could begin her main task。 But her woodpile was large enough。 She could not pretend that it justified any further delay。 She carried most of the wood to her cookfire and faced the mencement of her ordeal。
First she took her graveling pot from the shelf above Covenant and made a place for it in the center of the fire； so that its heat and light were added to the core of the coals。 Then； panting already at the thought of what she meant to do； she began to build up the fire。 She stoked it； concentrated it with dry hard wood； until its flames mounted toward the cave's ceiling and its heat drew sweat from her old brows。 And when the low roar of its blaze sucked at the air； causing the moss curtains over the entrance to flutter in the draft； she returned to the pouch of powder from which she had made the broth。 With her fist clenched in the pouch； she hesitated once more； faltering as if the next step constituted an irretrievable mitment。 〃Ah； mercy；〃 she breathed brittlely to herself。 〃I must remember… remember that I am alone。 No one else will tend him…or me。 I must do the work of two。 For this reason eremites do not Heal。 I must do the work。〃
Panting in dismay at her own audacity； she threw a small quantity of the powder into the high fire。
At once； the blaze began to change。 The flames did not die down； but they muted themselves； translated their energy into a less visible form。 Their light turned from orange and red and yellow to brown； a steadily deepening brown； as if they sprang now from thick loam rather than from wood。 And as the brightness of the fire dimmed； a rich aroma spread into the cave。 It tasted to the Healer like the breaking of fresh earth so that seeds could be planted…like the lively imminence of seeds and buds and spring …like the fructifying of green things which had germinated in wealthy soil。 She could have lost herself in that brown fragrance； forgetful of Lord Foul's winter and the sick man and all pain。 But it was part of her work。 Through her love for it； it impelled her to Covenant's side。 There she planted her feet and took one last moment to be sure of what she meant to do。
His hands and feet and face she would not touch。 They were not crucial to his recovery； not worth what they would cost her。 And the sickness in his mind was too plex and multifarious to undertake until he was physically whole enough to bear the strain of healing。 So she bent her loamy gaze toward his broken ankle。
As she concentrated on that injury； the light of the fire became browner； richer； more potent and explicit； until it shone like the radiance of her eyes between her face and his ankle。 The rest of the cave fell into gloom； soon only the link of sight between her attention and his pain retained illumination。 It stretched between them； binding them together； gradually uniting their opposed pieces of need and power。 Amid the heat and fragrancy of the fire； they became like one being； annealed of isolation； plete。
Blindly； tremulously； as if she were no longer aware of herself； she placed her hands on his ankle； explored it with her touch until she unconsciously knew the precise angle and acuteness of its fracture。 Then she withdrew。
Her power subsumed her； made her independent flesh seem transient； devoid of significance； she became an involuntary vessel for her work； anchor and source of the bond which made her one with his wound。
When the bond grew strong enough； she retreated from him。 Without volition or awareness； she stopped and picked up the smooth heavy stone which she used as a pestle； without volition or awareness； she held it like a weighty gift in both hands； offering it to Covenant。 Then she raised it high over her head。
She blinked； and the brown link of oneness trembled。
With all her strength； she swung the stone down； slammed it against her own ankle。
The bones broke like dry wood。
Pain shot through her…pain like the splintering of souls； hers and his。 She shrieked once and crumbled to the floor in a swoon。
Then time passed for her in a long agony that shut and sealed every other door of her mind。 She lay on the floor while the fire died into dim embers； and the aroma of spring turned to dust in the air； and the ghostly fibers of the roots shone and waned。 Nothing existed for her except the searing instant in which she had matched Covenant's pain…the instant in which she had taken all their pain； his and hers； upon herself。 Night passed and came again； still she lay crumbled。 Her breathing gasped hoarsely between her flaccid lips； and her heart fluttered along the verges of extinction。 If she could have regained consciousness long enough to choose to die； she would have done so gladly； eagerly。 But the pain sealed her within herself and had its way with her until it became all she knew of life or death。
Yet at last she found herself thinking that it had never been this bad when she was younger。 The old power had not altogether failed her； but her ordeals at their worst had never been like this。 Her body was wracked with thirst and hunger。 And this； too； was not as it had ever been before。 Where were the people who should have watched over her…who should have at least given her water so that she did not die of thirst before the agony passed？ Where were the family or friends who brought the ill and injured to her； and who gladly did all they could to aid the healing？
In time； such questions led her to remember that she was alone； that she and the sick man were both u