The Seeress of Kell

going until you found time to throw him off a cliff.''
    "Polgara, you're interfering with the practice of my religion."
    She raised one eyebrow.
    "I thought you knew. It's an article of the faith: 'Kill every Grolim you come across.' "
    "I might even consider converting to that religion," Zakath said.
    "Are you absolutely certain you're not Arendish?" Garion said to him.
    Beldin sighed. "Since you're going to be such a spoilsport for this, Pol, I found a group of sheephenders below the snow line."
    "Shepherds, uncle," she corrected.
    "It means the same thing. If you really look at it, it's even the same word,"
    "Shepherd sounds nicer."
    "Nicer." He snorted. "Sheep are stupid, they smell bad, and they taste worse. Anybody who spends his life tending them is either defective or degenerate."
    "You're in rare form this afternoon," Belgarath congratulated him.
    "It's been a great day for flying," Beldin explained with a broad grin. "Do you have any idea of how much warm air comes up off new snow when the sun hits it? I flew up so high once that I started getting spots in front of my eyes.
    "That's stupid, uncle," Polgara snapped. "You should never go up where the air's that thin."
    "We're all entitled to a little stupidity now and men." He shrugged. "And the dive from that height is unbelievable. Why don't you join me, and I'll show you."
    "Will you never grow up?"
    "I doubt it, and I certainly hope not." He looked at Belgarath. "I think you'd better go down a mile or so and make camp."
    "It's early yet."
    "No. Actually it's late. That afternoon sun is quite warm-even up here. All this snow's starting to get soft. I’ve seen three avalanches already. If you make a wrong guess up here, you might get down a lot quicker than you want to."
    "Interesting point there. We'll get down out of this pass and set up for the night.''
    "I'll go on ahead." Beldin crouched and spread his arms. "Are you sure you don't want to come along, Pol?"
    "Don't be silly."
    He left a ghostly chuckle behind him as he soared away.
    They set up for the night on a ridge line. Although it exposed them to the constant wind, it was free from the danger of avalanche. Garion slept poorly that night. The wind that raked the exposed ridge set the taut canvas of the tent he shared with Ce'Nedra to thrumming, and the noise intruded itself upon him as he tried again and again to drift off. He shifted restlessly.
    "Can't you sleep either?" Ce'Nedra said in the chill darkness.
    "It's the wind," he replied.
    "Try not to think about it."
    "I don't have to think about it. It's like trying to sleep inside a big drum."
    "You were very brave this morning, Garion. I was terrified when I heard about that monster.''
    "We've dealt with monsters before. After a while, you get used to it."
    "My, aren't we getting blasé?"
    "It's an occupational trait. All of us mighty heroes have it. Fighting a monster or two before breakfast helps to sharpen the appetite."
    "You’ve changed, Garion."
    "Not really."
    "Yes, you have. When I first met you, you'd never have said anything like that."
    "When you first met me, I took everything very seriously."
    "Don't you take what we're doing seriously?" She said it almost accusingly.
    "Of course I do. It's the little incidental things along the way I sort of shrug off. There's not much point in worrying about something after it's already over, is there?"
    "Well, as long as neither of us can sleep anyway—" And she drew him to her and kissed him rather seriously.
    The temperature plunged that night, and when they arose, the snow, which had been dangerously soft the previous afternoon, had frozen, and they were able to proceed with little danger of avalanche. Because this side of the summit had taken the full force of the wind during the blizzard, the caravan track had little snow on it, and they made good time going down. By midafternoon they passed the last of the snow and rode down into a world of spring. The meadows were steep and lush and speckled with wildflowers bending in the mountain breeze. Brooks, which came directly out of the faces of glaciers, purled and danced over gleaming stones, and soft-eyed deer watched in gentle astonishment as Garion and the others rode by.
    A few miles below the snow line, they began to see herds of sheep grazing with witless concentration, consuming grass and wildflowers with indiscriminate appetite. The shepherds who watched them all wore simple white smocks, and they sat on hillocks or rocks in dreamy