He thought of the thieves' road from Illos then, and before that the murkwood, and before that the hard ride from his home. All the steps that had taken him to this place and still he didn't know what it meant. Or what he should have done from here. Surely there was an answer if he was willing to find it. There had to be an answer, only he couldn't see it. Strange to think a question like that might stun him so. And yet it wasn't a question of survival. He believed he would survive. It was only a question of feeling lost. Not knowing what to do, or how to do it. She might have an answer for that. Eragos smiled, but it was a faded sort of thing, a wounded creature fleeting in its presence upon his face. Eragos let it go.
"Not at all," he admitted.
Working his way south seemed to be the answer. Yet there was only so much further south to go. And he did despise the weather, no matter what he said. Spring at home, true spring, felt like something different. A blanket of ice, a battering of storm, as though the entire world was drinking in the warmth allotted to his mountain home. Eragos had the thought before, as a child, that the rest of the world was stealing their warmth. The rest of the world could have it. Eragos had no particular use for the warmth they would give him if they could.
It didn't matter.
"I might sleep," he amended himself with another smile.