did。 I want a home agaw； a warm bed…oh； merciful Usires； if you really are real； let me have a home again！ Don't let me die in the cold！ Let me find a home 。 。 。 a home 。 。 。 let me find a home。 。 。 ！
Sleep was conquering him at last。 He seemed to hear his own voice echoing down an old stone well。 At last he slid away from cold and painful thoughts into a warmer place。
He survived that night and six more nights after it； each followed by a morning of terrible； frigid stiffness； of solitude and increasing hunger。
The unseasonal cold had killed many of Spring's children in the womb； but some plants had managed to bud and flower in the brief； false season of warmth before the deadly winter returned to stay。 Binabik and the Sithi had both given him flowers to eat； but Simon had no idea if there were right or wrong kinds of flowers。 He ate what few he could find。 They did not fill him up； but neither did they kill him。 Patches of bitter yellow grass… very bitter…had survived beneath some of the snow hummocks as well； and he made full use of all he could find。 Once； in a moment of starved unreason； he even tried to eat a handful of fir needles。 They tasted astoundmgly dreadful； and the sap and his own froth made a sticky； half…frozen mess of his downy beard。
One day； when his longing for something solid to eat had bee a maddening obsession； a chill…baffled beetle wandered across his path。 Rachel the Dragon had held a very firm line on the almost incalculable filthiness of such vermin； but Simon's stomach had bee a far more powerful force than even Rachel's training。 He could not let this opportu… nity pass。
Despite his hollow gut； the first one proved very difficult。 When he felt the tiny legs moving within his mouth； he gagged and spit the beetle into the snow。 Its aimless kicking made him want to be sick； but a moment later he snatched it up again； then chewed and swallowed it as quickly as he could。 The beetle's texture was that of a delicate； slightly flexible nutshell； the taste little more than a musty tang。 When an hour had passed with none of Rachel's dire predictions ing to pass； Simon began to watch the ground carefully in hope of a few more such slow…moving morsels。
Different than his great hunger； and in some ways worse； was the continuing cold： when he could find and devour a fistful of lutegrass； his hunger was for a moment made less； and when he had hiked the first morning hour； his muscles stopped aching for a short time 。。。 but after that initial moment when he first crawled into his forest…bed； he was never warm again。 When he ceased moving even for a few short moments he began to shiver uncontrollably。 The chill was so relentless that it began to seem that it pursued him like an enemy。 He cursed at it weakly； swinging his arms through the air as though the malevolent cold was something he could strike； as he had struck at the dragon Igjarjuk； but cold was every… where and nowhere； it had no black blood to spill。
There was nothing that Simon could do but walk。 So； during all the painful hours of daylight； from the time his cramped limbs forced him from his makeshift bed each morning to the hour when the sun finally withdrew from the sodden gray sky； he walked almost ceaselessly south… ward。 The rhythm of his shuffling feet became as much a pan of the cycle of life as the rise and fall of the wind； the passage of the sun； the settling of snowflakes。 He walked because it kept him warm； he walked south because he dimly remembered Binabik saying that the Stone of Farewell stood in the grasslands south of Aldheorte。 He knew he could never survive a journey through the entire forest； a passage across a vast nation of trees and snow； but he had to have some destination： the endless tramping was easier if all he had to do was let the occluded sun pass from his left to his right。
He also walked because when he stood still the cold began to bring strange； frightening visions。 Sometimes he saw faces in the contorted trunks of trees and heard voices speaking his name and the names of strangers。 Other times the snowy forest seemed a thicket of towers； the sparse greenery was transformed into leaping flames and his heart tolled in his ears like a doomful bell。 But most importantly； Simon walked because there was nothing else he could do。 If he did not keep moving； he would die…and Simon was not ready to die。
〃Bug now； don't run； don't flitter
Taste bitter； don't care； don't care
Bug stay； happy day； tasty bite
Don't fight 。。。〃
It was late morning； the seventh day since his awakening。 Simon was stalking。 A spotted brown and gray beetle…larger and possibly more succulent than the small black variety which he had made a staple of his diet…was picking its way across the trunk of a white cedar。 Simon had snatched at it once； some twenty ells back； but this beetle had wings…and surely that proved its tastiness； since it had to work so hard to remain uneaten！…and had gone humming away most ungracefully。 It had not flown far。 A second attempt had also failed； which had led to this most recent landing place。
He was singing to himself； whether he sang out loud or not； he didn't know。 The beetle didn't seem to mind； so Simon kept it up。
〃Beetle sleep； don't creep； trust me
Stand still； stand still； tasty crumb
Here I e； through the snow； don't go 。 。 。〃
Simon； his eyes screwed down in a hunter's squint； was moving as slowly as his trembling； ill…nourished body would permit。 He wanted this bettle。 He needed this beetle。 Feeling a shiver beginning to well up inside of him； a shiver that would spoil his careful approach； he lunged。 His palms slapped eagerly against the bark； but when he brought his cupped hands up to his face to peer within he saw that he held nothing。
〃What do you want it for？〃 someone asked。 Simon； who had carried on more than a few conversations with strange voices during these last days； had already opened his mouth to reply when his heart suddenly began hammering in his chest。 He whirled； but no one was there。
Now it's begun； the going…mad has begun 。 。 。 was all he had time to think before someone tapped him on his shoulder。 He spun again and almost fell down。
〃Here。 I caught it。〃 The beetle； curiously lifeless； hovered in the air before him。 A moment later he saw that it hung from the fingers of a white…gloved hand。 The hand's owner stepped out from behind the cedar tree。 〃I don't know what you will do with it。 Do your people eat these things？ I had never heard that。〃
For a brief instant he thought Jiriki had e…the golden…eyed face was framed by a cloud of pale lavender hair； Jiriki's own odd shade； and feathered braids hung beside each up…slanting cheekbone…but after a long； staring instant he realized it was not his friend。
The stranger's face was very slender； but still slightly rounder than Jiriki's。 As with the prince； the alien architecture made some of this Sitha's expressions seem cold or cruel or even faintly animalistic； yet still strangely beautiful。 The newer seemed younger and more unguarded than Jiriki： her face…he had just realized that the stranger was female…changed swiftly from expression to expression even as he watched； like an exchange of subtle masks。 Despite what seemed the fluidity and energy of youth； Simon saw that deep in the cat…calm； golden eyes； this stranger shared with Jiriki the ancient Sithi light。
〃Seoman；〃 she said； then laughed whisperingly。 Her white…clad finger touched his brow； light and strong as a bird's wing。 〃Seoman Snowlock。〃
Simon was quivering。 〃Wh 。 。 。 wh 。 。 。 who。 。 。 ？〃
〃Aditu。〃 Her eyes were faintly mocking。 〃My mother named me Aditu no…Sa'onserei。 I have been sent for you。〃
〃S…sent？ B…b…by。 。 。 ？〃
Aditu tilted her head to one side； stretching her neck sinuously； and regarded Simon as someone might an untidy but interesting animal that crouched on the doorstep。 〃By my brother； manchild。 By Jiriki； of course。〃 She stared as Simon began to sway gently from side to side。 〃Why do you look so strange？〃
〃Were you 。。。 in my dreams？〃 he asked plaintively。
She continued to watch curiously as he abruptly sat down in the s