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Not for the first time and not for the last time, Della looked at the back of Jeral's head, grey curls bobbing as he loped along the forest path ahead of her, and wondered what he was thinking.  It was getting on toward dusk, and the last light was draining the colors away.  The stars would wink on in the sky and the black would spread until she felt blindfolded by the dark.  Della hoped Jeral had a plan, and not asking him about it meant she could at least pretend he did.