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have caused his discomfort. He stood, making various gasps and whimpers at each stage of the excruciating ordeal. Pinpricks of pain needled his feet. Pulling off his socks, he found his toes incased in puffy blisters.
    “Damn.”
    Could be worse.
    Could be better.
    The dog pawed Edmund’s pack.
    “Hold on,” he said, gingerly lowering himself to the ground. “You don’t eat until I do. That, that, that’s rule number two.”
    Wincing, he punctured the blisters with the tip of his short sword. Filmy pus oozed out from his incisions. Cutting his torn and formerly white shirt into thin strips, he wrapped his battered toes. The fabric felt smooth and oddly comforting. When he was finished, he wiggled his feet and smiled at the unimpressed dog.
    “Well, there you go. That will do nicely, don’t you think?”
    See, I’m not a complete failure. I can manage living in the wild!
    She examined the pack.
    Feeling delighted by overcoming such a potentially disabling obstacle on his own, Edmund pulled on his socks and slid a foot into one of his boots. It got stuck halfway down.
    Edmund withdrew his foot and examined the boot. It was the correct one. He examined his feet. They were both swollen.
    “Damn it, Ed,” he said aloud, shaking his head in disgust. “You should’ve known.”
    Rubbing his bloated feet, he considered how long it would take the swelling to diminish naturally. It was early morning; the sun was still climbing over the green hills to the east. However, he wanted to put some distance between him and Rood. He was still within a full day’s walk from the surrounding farms and the last thing that he wanted was to run into somebody he knew, especially if he were going to be hobbling along like a cripple.
    Lifting a paw, the dog set it on the pack, her sad brown eyes drifting over her shoulder to Edmund. He ignored her.
    You’re only strong enough to cast your healing spell once a day. Best save it in case you really need it.
    Without the spell, I’ll be sitting here until noon. I might as well use it now.
    Suit yourself. But you better hope that you don’t miscast it or else you’ll be lying here unconscious until nightfall.
    I’ll have to take that chance.
    Edmund looked around, making sure nobody could possibly overhear him. Putting a hand on each foot, he concentrated on the phrase he used to recite whenever he skinned his knees as a child.
    “ Smerte av reise .”
    The tenderness faded, the puffiness receded, and the flaps of loose skin that hung over his pierced blisters drew closer together.
    Lying down, Edmund wondered if he was about to faint. When the tingling greyness in his head dissipated, he inhaled deeply and rubbed his eyes.
    “I suppose,” he said wearily to the dog. “I suppose that my mother was right. I, I should’ve practiced my spells more when I was younger.” He got up and walked in a circle, testing his feet. “I would be better at casting if I had.”
    She always said you were going to be a talented magic user.
    She was just trying to be supportive. Unlike father.
    He was supportive in his way. You just never appreciated him.
    Edmund sighed. “But I never saw the purpose, you know?” he went on. “I never thought such things were important back then. Then again, nothing really seems important when you’re young and you have all the time in the world.”
    He pulled on a fresh shirt, a thick wool tunic more suited for a cold winter evening than a hot autumn afternoon.
    You should have brought more lightweight clothes. You’re going to sweat like a pig in that.
    A little sweating will do me some good.
    “All right then,” he said, handing his companion one of the dirt- and blood-covered pieces of dried beef he had salvaged from the road the evening before. “Here you go. Enjoy.”
    The dog looked at it, then at Edmund.
    “Come, come. This is all you’ll get until nightfall. We won’t be stopping until then. And, if we make good time, we can have something warm, maybe