11“I'm not sure if he's going to make it.”
Nati was sitting in the back of the wagon, pressing a damp cloth against Father Merry's feverish forehead every few seconds. Twisting himself around to study the two of them, Ritter pulled a face. “We're less than a day away now. We should make it before sundown.”
“What if we don't?”
Ritter could only offer a resigned look. “I can't go any faster. The trail is so rutted, it would probably kill him.”
“Do you even know where we're going?”
A shrug. What else could he give? This land was unknown to him and, using Merry's vague directions, he'd set a course which he hoped was roughly south-west. The trail was old, probably hadn't been used for decades, and nothing about the surrounding landscape gave him any clues. Only his very basic knowledge of
