When he was forced to stay awake, Andrew moaned in protest. He wanted to sleep, for once in eight days, well, and felt he could now that he wasn't forced into an airless little cell and at the mercy of at least six other sadistic people. But he was grateful for the water, despite the little amounts he had to take at a time since his stomach had shrunk over his time in imprisonment. What he was desperate for, however, was some kind of food that came from the ground, or a tree. A fruit or grain or vegetable. He felt at this point he'd cut his long hair off for just one carrot. He did his best to move to a more comfortable position, which was difficult because of the bandaged, stinging wounds on his back, but after a while he managed to curl into a half-ball alongside White Tide and immediately fall into a deep, black sleep.

White settled carefully on the grass, and from time to time sniffed Andrew. Now and then she licked his bare shoulder, nuzzled his neck, and he barely moved. As hours elapsed, she snorted and grew restless, nosing Andrew as if to make sure he would respond, and when he did, she stood and wandered to the spring, studying the black horse and keeping her distance as she stepped into the water and buried half her face in it, blowing bubbles as she did.