Guram woke in the infirmary to the smell of fresh coffee, clean sheets and the antiseptic sting of dressings on his many wounds. Every inch of his body ached, but he sighed in pleasure at being back in civilization once more. He thanked the Lord that Nature was tamed and controlled within the walls of the monastery. The cave below the ground seemed but a nightmare, amplified by his drugged state after the trial by fire. Yet he couldn’t deny the proof on his skin, the raised welts around his wrists from the poisonous vines, the ache in his throat from the violation of its thorny stems.
The Abbot came into the room and limped over slowly, every step clearly an effort. He sat on the side of the bed, his face gaunt, his flesh covered with tiny cuts.
“You did well, my son. You faced Her, and
