The initial blast propelled Thanatos from below, causing Henry's back to graze the ceiling. His scream cut short as the wind lessened before impact. The saddle gear around his legs tightened as they dropped a few feet before the second blast hit from behind.

Thanatos' wings snapped shut as they shot through several hundred yards of tunnel and finally out into open space. Then the winds took over.

Henry had meant to turn his head and check on the others, but instead, he caught a glimpse of an individual airstream. It had a misty look to it, like concentrated streams of fog, and he understood that there were not just one or two but dozens of currents competing in the cavern.

Just as he was about to sound a warning, a stream hit him from the side—and if he hadn't been firmly strapped into the saddle, it would have torn him off Thanatos' back. A strong wind slammed into his back, pushing his face forward against his flier. Henry instinctively extended his arms to encircle Thanatos' neck, feeling his tremble of exertion.

The moment Henry dared to sit up, he immediately had to duck again to avoid a large black wing that sporadically extended outward. A sudden current caught the wing and spun Thanatos like a frantic spinning top. The saddle creaked, and Henry barely managed to grab onto it before the pressure threatened to break either the construction or any of his bones.

Henry adored maneuvers; he could lose himself in them for hours on end. Yet what they were enduring now made his head cry and his stomach churn. His surroundings had become a hazy white, with no sense of direction or orientation. No perception either. No sound besides the deafening roar of the wind. No standing still.

"Stop fighting!" screamed Ripred somewhere, but Henry wasn't even trying to fight. How could he fight? His legs were immobilized; he was caught there, on Thanatos' back, as the winds threw them around like ragdolls. After some hassle, he managed to at least wrap his arms around his flier's neck, holding on as tightly as he could. A silhouette flew by, looking like Ripred, screaming . . . something.

"Cease fighting," Henry had the mind to press out, hoping that Thanatos would hear. But either his flier didn't hear or couldn't comply. His wings spanned over seventeen feet, and he seemed incapable of resisting the urge to extend them, always catching several currents at once.

Henry felt nauseous and on the verge of passing out when he finally remembered that he could try to loosen the saddle gear. He weakly pulled at the clasps when another blast propelled them upward, but this time, it did not abate. Henry pressed his face into Thanatos' fur, then his head smashed into the ceiling with a sickening thud.

A sharp pain shot through his skull; the last thing he heard was Thanatos' anguished cry before everything faded to black.

***

Henry's head was a single, throbbing hearth of pain. Everything buzzed and crawled as if a swarm of buzzers were trapped within. His world remained black, yet he could feel other sensations emerging from the numbing oblivion. Hands tugged at him, working to undo the straps around his legs.

Were they still in the air? Henry could not tell. His head felt leaden and lifeless, and a sick feeling crept into his stomach. As he braced himself to vomit, someone hoisted him from behind and hauled him away from . . . Thanatos.

The name revived him, and Henry jolted upright. His eye flung open, and he winced at the sudden brightness. Blurry faces surrounded him as if he were looking up from beneath the surface of water. Muffled voices filled his ears, and a face leaned in, bringing the intense light closer. Someone reached out to pry his eye open, and Henry groaned from the uncomfortable brightness. As the light shifted, he felt the impact of his back against a solid surface. Just before his head could follow, someone caught him, and he weakly reached up to steady himself.

"He hurt?" a tiny voice spoke next to his ear, and a small hand patted his arm. "There, there."

Then it disappeared. "Yes, he is hurt," replied another voice. "And it's better if we leave him alone—leave him to Howard. Howard is an expert."

"Howard, will he recover?" asked another voice.

"I believe so." Henry flinched and squinted as a vastly clearer and closer voice pierced through the muffled murmurs. "Take ease. It is best if you stay—" Before the voice could finish speaking, Henry had already bent over and vomited. Each face around him recoiled, except for the one he still clung to. "Oh dear, this is certainly a concussion."

Henry suppressed another gag but kept the rest of his meal down. "Howard?" He finally released his iron grip on the arm that he recognized as Howard's.

"Yes." He stared at him with a combination of unease and concern. "Can you hear me properly?"

"I can." Henry groaned. "Did . . . we land yet?"

Howard nodded, prompting Henry to finally raise his gaze and take in their surroundings. They seemed to have sought refuge in a secluded side cave. The questers had all gathered around him, their concern evident on their faces.

Henry's mouth opened, yet before he could speak, he sensed a commotion ensue, a little offside, where he saw the fliers had clustered together. "Is he . . . he . . ." one voice spoke. Then, faster than anyone could think to stop him, a figure disconnected from the pile and leaped toward him, prompting the questers to dart apart. "You live!"

"Death," mumbled Henry, his arms finding their way around the neck of his bond, who hunched over him with visceral fear in his eyes.

"Will he live? Say that he will live," Thanatos begged Howard.

"He will live," confirmed Howard, and only then did Henry notice that his flier was still trembling with exertion.

"Are you well?" he asked weakly.

"You are not one to ask me this," hissed Thanatos. "You must not be concerned for anyone but yourself right now." He moved a little to accommodate Howard, but not so far away that Henry would have had to release him.

"But . . . how fare you others?" Henry attempted to pull himself up by the saddle straps and collapsed immediately. Thanatos caught him before he could drop to the floor. Lights sparked before Henry's eye, and he heaved.

"Take ease, I say!" heeded Howard. "Your head did not . . . Oh, no." When Howard seized his arm and pulled back his collar, Henry sensed the wetness at the back of his head. It trickled into his neck and soiled his shirt and vest, as well as Thanatos' fur.

Struggling to focus his vision, he stared at specks of red, the beginnings of a puddle. Confused, he scooted away to avoid sitting in it, almost falling into Howard again, who caught him just in time. Henry reached for the back of his head before bringing it to his face . . . finding it glistening red.

"Lay back down. This looks like it will require stitching." Howard tugged him backward, away from Thanatos.

"No—" Henry couldn't prevent his flier's fur from slipping through his fingers.

"He may stay by your side," said Howard reassuringly. "But the both of you should rest. You must strip out of your vest and remove the eyepatch, so that I may properly clean and stitch that wound."

"Not . . . the eyepatch." A surge of apprehension caused Henry's eye to fly open again. "Do not . . . not the . . ." He couldn't bear the thought of them seeing him in an even more pitiful state. His eye met Luxa's as she sat motionlessly next to Howard, who merely raised an eyebrow.

"Be grateful that we do not have to cut any of your hair," said Howard sourly.

Henry's mouth fell open, yet before he could object further, his vision became hazy again, and he lost his weak grasp on reality, sinking back into the enveloping oblivion.

***

When Henry next opened his eye, he found himself surrounded by near-unbroken darkness. It wasn't until he shifted his gaze that he caught a glimpse of the distant glow of the currents. The questers seemed to have moved away until the rumble of the winds was barely audible to human ears.

As he attempted to rise, a stab of pain pierced his skull. Henry groaned and sank back down, trying to calm his pounding heart. Then he remembered something else. His hand jerked up to the right side of his face and . . . The eyepatch was gone. In its place, he felt silken bandages, partially crusted with blood.

"A fine scar you got there, lad," a voice to his left cut through the darkness. "A scar like that, you know, builds character."

Henry intended to jerk around, but he only succeeded in rolling onto his side. In the dim light of the distant currents, he could just about make out Ripred.

"Be still." He squinted his eye, then widened it again. "Where are the others?" he asked. "Where is . . . Death? Howard said that he could stay. Where . . ." Henry took a deep breath until his head stung. "Where are the others?"

"Oh, not you too," groaned Ripred.

Henry slapped the stone floor with his flat palm, but as he tuned into the sound, he was horrified to find only a jumble of blurred static—conflicting and barely legible data that made his head spin even more. He took another sharp breath, battling a swell of fear.

"It doesn't do the echolocation any good, that concussion, does it?"

"I've hit my head before, but it was never like this," mumbled Henry. He slapped the floor again, but the quality of the echoing image didn't improve.

"Well, you've got it pretty bad this time," said Ripred. "Howard says that you should take it a little easier for a week or so. I say you'll be fine, but he's probably right. You just look exceptionally pitiful right now."

Henry's mouth opened for a sharp retort. "I feel pitiful too," he said instead, closing his eye. "But you have not told me yet—where are the others?"

"Oh, lad, it is no fun when you don't humor me back," whined Ripred. "Your precious children are all fine, and so are the fliers—although they're incapacitated by exhaustion from those currents. Your flier too . . . Death, you call him? He mentioned that the nickname began when you found "Thanatos" to be too cumbersome to scream."

Henry laughed weakly. "I recall." His hand clenched into a fist, feeling empty. Then he looked up. "Did you and he speak about me?"

"A little." Ripred shuffled closer, settling on Henry's right. "He could not be moved to leave your side for hours until Howard finally convinced him to sleep, along with the others. Howard's a pretty great substitute babysitter, I must say. So responsible and dedicated. Even great with the youngest ones."

"Sublime. Wait, what did you and Death—"

"What is not so sublime is that they're all pushing past their limits," Ripred cut him off, ignoring his question. His gaze seemed to trail behind Henry, where he pictured the others resting. "They have been for a while now."

"This trip is taking longer than expected due to our forced detours," mumbled Henry. "They should already be home."

"And yet they are not," said Ripred. "They are here, and at this rate, they will all be incapacitated before they can help anyone."

"It's not like any of us chose to be incapacitated."

Henry's eye flew open when another voice cut in. He squinted, making out Gregor's lean shape on his other side.

"It's not like we weren't warned," replied Ripred promptly.

Henry could have sworn Gregor rolled his eyes. "Hey, you're already awake." He took one step closer, hesitated, and then kneeled on Henry's left. "Howard said to wake you up in case you weren't. He says it's important for head injuries. Oh, and to get you to drink."

In Gregor's outstretched hand, Henry spotted a water bag. Yet when he tried to rise, he collapsed back, feeling more powerless than he had in a long time. "Shit."

"Wait. Here. Maybe you shouldn't—" Gregor awkwardly extended a hand, yet when Henry reached for it, he undershot and grasped air. Ripred giggled, and Henry cursed under his breath.

Before the notion of just how inadequate he felt without his echolocation could properly hit Henry, Gregor reached for him of his own accord. Only with his help did Henry manage to sit up and lean against the wall.

Gregor handed him the water bag, which Henry downed in one swift drink, then asked, "So, then, how is the current situation?" He wiped water off his chin with the leather of his gauntlet and watched the Overlander keenly until he perceived from his other side a loud wheeze, followed by a hysterical laughing fit.

Gregor's eyes flew to Ripred, who was lying stomach-down on the floor, still cackling. "What?" asked Gregor. Only then did it seem to dawn on him, and he made a face, covering his mouth.

"My lad, you are utterly horrible," said Ripred once he had calmed down.

Henry shrugged. "I make jokes when I am injured. When Death asked how my eye was doing after I lost it, I said that it had seen better."

Ripred resumed laughing immediately, and even Gregor couldn't stifle his grin any longer.

"But I mean it." Henry nudged Gregor. "How . . . did you even escape those currents?"

"We had to maneuver up and hold the bats' wings shut to get them down," said Gregor, staring at the floor. "It wasn't easy with you. Thanatos is big like Ares, so we all had to go up and . . . well." He wrung his hands. "But we got you down. The others are all uninjured; they just have to rest. Howard stitched you up, and then he told us to sleep. I got the first watch again, but I'm about to trade with Luxa, so I woke you up. Howard told us to do that when we switch."

Henry scrutinized him. "You are well?"

Gregor nodded.

"You do not look so well."

"You don't either." In contrast to Ripred, Gregor didn't sound mocking.

So, for the first time since the Overlander had discovered his identity, Henry allowed himself to let go of the odd awkwardness that had hovered between them. He smiled sourly, giving Gregor another nudge. "It is only me," he said. "I shall be fine. I've lived through worse."

Gregor shifted his eyes away, then whispered, "You have no plans to die."

It took Henry a second to register, then his eye widened. "You recall that?"

"It is one of the few things I still remember from back then." He sat down properly, pulling his legs to his chest. "I think because it came true."

"It did." Henry's smile widened, then fell. "You do not have to be here and speak to me, you know? I would understand if you—"

"I want to speak to you."

"Say what?"

"I told myself that—" Gregor broke off, wringing his hands. "I just wanted to say that it really doesn't change anything!" he finally blurted out. "You're the Death Rider and . . . And whether you're also . . . Henry or not doesn't change anything. Okay?"

"Attaboy!" snarled Ripred from the shade. "I just knew I could trust you with this little secret."

"You did that on purpose, and that was really mean," snapped Gregor, and before Ripred could retort, he turned back to Henry. "I'm . . . I don't know if Thanatos told you, but I'm really sorry that I was there. I didn't mean to cause you any problems."

"I heard everything that you spoke," mumbled Henry. "This . . . second echolocation threshold required me to fine-tune my senses, especially my hearing, to a level that far exceeds normal human hearing." He scowled. "It is a little like . . . that binocular device of yours, but instead of enhancing images, I can enhance and focus on sounds."

"Wow," mumbled Gregor. "That . . . actually, that explains a lot. But I mean it!" he urged. "I don't mean to bother you. If you want, we can just pretend that none of this ever happened, and—"

"It happened," Henry cut him off. "And I shall not deny that. Just think of it this way." He squinted, straining his aching head. "Now you have it over with. You know the truth, and it is your choice what you do with this truth. All weights of uncertainty have been lifted. And . . ." Henry smiled somberly. "Now you can tell Nerissa that her brother holds her in his heart and misses her every day. Would you do that?"

"I was wondering if you'd find a bright side in even this." Ripred chuckled. "Congratulations, trial passed."

"Do not ever strive to go back or change your past," said Henry to Gregor, ignoring Ripred. "Nothing can actually change the past, so it is really quite pointless to lament about it."

"I mean, I guess you're right." Gregor scooted back and forth. "I will tell Nerissa, by the way. Promise."

"Many thanks. And tell Ares that it is quite alright if he doesn't wish to speak to me right away," added Henry after some consideration. "I understand his hesitation and his disbelief about my regrets."

"See, this is why the boy there can't resent you," Ripred chimed in. "You're far too wise and considerate now."

"You are," mumbled Gregor.

"Doubt not that my younger self would be in as much disbelief about this as you." Henry's attempt to laugh was cut short by a piercing pain in his head. "And yet another thing that you may or may not tell Ares as it pleases you is that it was regrets that made me so wise and considerate. Regrets are not a bad thing," he said with as much conviction as he could muster. "Regrets and mistakes are only alternate words for lessons. They are by nature in the past, so there is no use lamenting over them. Yet their sheer existence proves that you have grown since making those mistakes. That you know better now how to act in the future."

Gregor stared at him with his mouth standing agape.

"Lad, lad," snarled Ripred. "Overwhelm the boy not with too much of this sickening optimism of yours."

"I must always overwhelm with my sickening optimism those who require it," retorted Henry with a smile. "And you looked like you required it."

"But . . . But . . ." Gregor scooted back and forth. "But some things are just bad. They're not lessons or even mistakes because they just happen to us and we can't control them."

"Well, then it is double pointless to lament over them." Henry shrugged. "Whoever would waste their time lamenting over things they cannot even control?"

Gregor halted in his tracks, making a sour face. "Well, maybe because they caused us pain? Or others?"

"Pain is valid—"

"Too late," Ripred chimed in. "You already invalidated his feelings."

"Pain is valid," repeated Henry with emphasis. "Hurt, but waste your energy not on regretting things out of your control. When life pushes you down a cliff, you cannot control that. But what you can control is whether you land on your feet or flat on your stomach. So," he nudged Gregor's leg, "please tell me that at least one of us feels better now."

"I actually feel even worse now," said Gregor with a sigh. "Because I don't think I've ever landed in any way but on my stomach."

"See, but now you know, and now you can attempt to do it better next time."

"You really think so?" Gregor perked up.

"Ask yourself if something is within your control, and if it is not, to do anything but accept it as it is strikes me as absurd," said Henry.

"But what if it is hard to accept?" whispered Gregor. "Like . . . like if there's a dead guy who wrote a bunch of prophecies that require you and your family to suffer for no reason?"

"No reason?!" Henry exclaimed and immediately regretted it, as a surge of pain shot through his head. "What, mean you to tell me that all the lives you have saved, all the evils that you have averted and conquered, are no reason?!"

"I mean—" Gregor broke off. "I mean, I guess . . ." He cleared his throat without meeting Henry's gaze. "I had this thought earlier—that all quests also had some positive consequence. But still, I—"

"No "still". You saved your father," urged Henry. "You averted a much earlier outbreak of war when you did not slay the Bane."

"I could have averted what he's doing to the mice if I had," mumbled Gregor.

"And who says that the gnawers would not have unleashed a similar massacre upon all warmbloods if you had slain him?" retorted Henry. "Who says that the Regalians wouldn't have made use of the plague to retaliate? Who says that you caused more deaths than you averted?"

Gregor stared at his hands. "Because killing's what I'm best at, apparently, or something. I mean, I'm—"

"Oh, not this." Ripred groaned.

"Say what?!" exclaimed Henry, jerking up and even ignoring the sting in his head. "What the hell is this about now? You are quite possibly one of the most benevolent people I have ever met."

"But I'm a rager," whispered Gregor. "And Hamnet said that—"

"Hamnet said what?" asked Henry icily.

"That I'm a warrior and a rager and . . . Solovet's dream come true," he whispered barely audibly. "That it didn't take long for her to get her claws into me . . . something like that. And he was right." Gregor sniffed. "The more I do . . . What if all I can do is do harm? I'm just—" Suddenly, he looked up. "N-Never mind," he stammered. "I didn't mean to, like . . . uh, to bother you with—"

Henry stared at him, mouth agape. A million thoughts raced through his head, and for the first time since he had died, Henry wished that Hamnet was there . . . just so he could deliver a punch to his face.

"Just forget what I said," insisted Gregor. "I'm sorry. I just—"

"Halt. Halt!" Henry raised his hands, cutting Gregor's apology short as soon as he had composed himself.

Ripred chuckled. "I would say something myself here, but I can smell your rage, lad."

"Oh, I am enraged," said Henry, barely steadying his breathing. "Gregor, you did not actually believe any of that, did you?"

"But it's true," said Gregor, looking down.

"What is true is that you are a child," hissed Henry, his voice laced with more anger than he had intended. He breathed in deeply, thinking his next words through carefully. How could he convey this in a way that left no room for doubt? "Know you what my final takeaway from you was when you first met me as the Death Rider on the waterway? What I thought when I said that goodbye?"

Gregor shook his head.

"That you had unconditional kindness," said Henry, and Gregor's head shot up. "Kindness, unlike anything I had ever been shown at the time. No one has really ever encouraged you to show this kindness more, have they?"

"I don't know," mumbled Gregor, turning his head away. "I want to be kind, but I don't know if I can be. If I have a choice in this."

Henry breathed in and out again, trying to contain a fresh wave of rage that boiled up in him at the thought that Hamnet had planted this seed in Gregor's head successfully, and no one had corrected him yet. "You must understand that it is your choice to what degree you let your circumstances affect you," he said, then paused. "What I mean is, you may only change as much as you allow yourself to change, someone wise once said. This is something that I also had to learn the hard way." He smiled crookedly. "To presume I had no choice was only an excuse to remain set in my harmful ways. You have no harmful ways to remain in. All you must do is see the truth about yourself."

"The . . . truth about myself?"

"The truth!" exclaimed Henry. "That you risked your life to save your father. That you refused to kill the Bane because you did not condone killing a baby. That you and Luxa convinced the council to send the plague vaccine to the gnawers. That you followed along to save Stellovet out of fear for her life, even if you did not like her. All of those things were choices that say so much more about your character than some . . . inborn power," he urged. "And even if you make errors in judgment, you are only a child. You have never done anything malicious."

"How do you know that?" asked Gregor. Part of Henry thought he was moments from breaking into tears.

"Well, have you?"

Gregor stared at him incredulously for a few moments, then he slowly shook his head. "See?" asked Henry with a half-smile. "This already makes you better than even me."

"I'm not better than you." Gregor wiped a hand across his face. "You're injured, and yet you're giving me the pep talk. You're so nice to me, and I was thinking earlier about whether I can still treat you the same."

"I wouldn't blame you if you couldn't."

"Stop being so nice to me!" cried Gregor, sniffing. "Everything that you're saying is . . . I guess it's true. And it's so nice. You're so nice, but it's making me feel bad. I'm not used to seeing things this way. I've never done it. I don't . . . I don't know if I . . . My head hurts." He sniffed again.

"Oh no, lad, look at what you've done," said Ripred. "Now you broke him."

In response, Henry pushed off the wall and pulled Gregor into a tight hug. "Take ease," he soothed, and to his surprise, Gregor didn't push him away. On the contrary, he hesitated only briefly before embracing him back.

"I just feel terrible," mumbled Gregor.

"You may have time to feel terrible." Henry patted his back. "And you may have time to process all this. Take ease, and process it when you feel ready. Think about it the next time you find yourself falling for others' misjudgments of your character or feeling like you have no choice. May you do that?"

"But there are the mice, the Bane . . ." mumbled Gregor. "How can any of this have any good consequences? And I can't stop thinking about how I might have done more. But then I think, why should I? Why should I feel bad for not wanting to put my safety and the safety of my family on the line? I don't want to be a hero. Doesn't that change things?"

"It does not," said Henry. "Circumstances needing you to be a hero is not fair, but few things in life are. Your circumstances say nothing about your character; what you make of your circumstances does. The choices you make."

"The way you chose to be a hero after becoming an outcast," mumbled Gregor.

"And the way that you chose correctly each time so far," concurred Henry. "So, understand that no circumstances can trap you to the point where you no longer have a choice." He released Gregor and held him at arm's length to look him in the eyes. "You must choose for yourself what to do with your circumstances, and those choices determine the truth about your character."

"Even if I don't choose to be a hero?"

"To be a good person does not mean to be a hero," said Henry. "It only means that you do your best not to harm anyone."

Gregor said nothing for a long while. "Maybe you're right," he mumbled. "I'll . . . think about it, okay?"

"Attaboy." Henry patted his head, then dropped back against the wall. "Didn't you say something about switching watch with Luxa? So much anger and motivational speaking is tiring me out."

"Howard says that you need much rest, yeah," mumbled Gregor. "S-Sorry if I kept you—"

"What said I about regrets?" Henry cut him off. "You did nothing wrong. Be still."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Henry teetered on the edge between feeling too much discomfort for sleep and being too tired to care. "Oh, lad, I think you actually got through to him," said Ripred after a while, pointing at Gregor, who stared at the floor. "And I have to say, that's quite impressive."

"At least one thing that I have accomplished on this quest," mumbled Henry, feeling his pulsing head. "Otherwise, you might as well have been fine without me." The nibblers had died in that pit even though he had done his best, thought Henry. He had done his best, but he had not contributed anything genuine to their efforts yet. He blew out an exasperated breath. "Why am I even still here?"

"Because we wouldn't be fine without you," whispered Gregor unexpectedly. "We would probably be despairing or fighting all the time. You're the one who stopped Luxa from being a jerk earlier. I was going to say thanks, actually." He wrung his hands. "For that . . . and for trying to lift the mood with your stories. And . . . you know. With just being you."

"Yes, yes, we need no self-pity from you, lad," said Ripred. "Not you, who is more useful than most of this sorry lot combined. Ain't nobody else doing the babysitting work around here or kicking ass properly! You don't count, boy. Because you "do not want this gift"."

Gregor made a face. "Fine. I wouldn't have said it like that, but . . . yeah," he said. After a short pause, he added in Henry's direction, "I'm really glad that you're here."

Henry stared at him for a few heartbeats. "Then do me the favor of listening to what I told you earlier," he said. "I shall cease whining that I am useless if you cease whining that you have no choices. Let us bring forth change together."

Gregor actually smiled. "Okay . . . Henry."

"Hey, say my name not so loudly." He nudged his leg again, but couldn't help a wide grin from spreading on his face. How long had it been since anyone whom he had known before exile had called him by his name? "Thank you," he added more quietly.

"You've earned it," replied Gregor in an equally hushed voice. "I was going to ask you about how you've been doing. Since the fall, I mean." He scratched his head. "But maybe I should do that another time."

"If you do not mind." Henry groaned. "I feel quite pitiful right now."

"See, see?" Ripred chimed. "This means leave him, and me too, to sleep. I cannot sleep with all this motivational, irksomely wholesome chatter here."

"Then leave," replied Henry simply. Ripred scoffed, moving not an inch, but Henry ignored him, addressing Gregor again: "Perhaps we can fly together tomorrow and speak then?"

"Yeah." Gregor nodded. "About . . . you know, the echolocation too, maybe."

"Absolutely." Henry took a deep breath, valiantly fighting against the ache in his head. "Ripred must be doing something wrong if you have been failing all this time. I might get to the bottom of this."

"His issue is that he didn't believe me that it is possible," said Ripred. "And that is his mistake, not mine."

"Oh, but mindset is the most important part," said Henry.

"Can you help me?" asked Gregor timidly. "I know that it's possible now, obviously, but I don't know what to do otherwise."

"Hey! Is this a personal insult or something?" snarled Ripred. "I am right here."

"And I'm asking him," snapped Gregor. "Because asking you didn't amount to anything for one and a half years."

Henry broke into laughter at once but broke off when his head began to feel as though he was being stabbed repeatedly. "That's right, take no bullying from him." Henry reached out until he felt Gregor's arm, then patted it, attempting to scrape together the last pieces of his focus that the collision with the rock had left intact. "Had he had you do simple repetitive exercises without much variation or explanation?"

Gregor nodded.

"That is not how you learn echolocation if you have no belief." Henry sighed. "I . . . I may teach you if you want."

Gregor nodded again, even looking eager. Grateful. The realization made an unexpected wave of pride swell in Henry. It hadn't even been that long since he'd been the student. If only Kismet could see me now, he thought and smiled. Then his smile fell. "If we have time," he amended.

"We'll find some," said Gregor. "We have to. Or I'll never figure this out."

"So, so, so, so," interjected Ripred. "The lad thinks because he learned from Destiny Herself that he is a better teacher than me."

"Destiny Herself says that you are great at many things, but not at teaching," Henry shot back. "And that you're a scoundrel. I'm fairly certain that it is meant endearingly, considering she called you that at least three times."

To that, Ripred said nothing . . . and Henry thought he didn't have to.