He tried to tell her that they must go on, but he could no longer form the words. He could only gesture and urge her forward, in the direction of the city.
But she refused to go. "Too far ... die ... without water...."
He knew that she was right, but still he was not ready to give up.
She began to move away from him, toward the south, and he thought that she had gone mad and was wandering. Then he saw that she was peering with awful intensity at the line of the scarp that formed this wall of the Belly of Stones. It rose into a great ridge, serrated like the backbone of a whale, and some three miles away a long dorsal fin of reddish rock curved out into the desert.
Berild made a little sobbing noise in her throat. She began to plod toward the distant promontory.
Stark caught up with her. He tried to stop her, but she would not be stopped, turning a feral glare upon him.
She croaked, "Water!" and pointed.
He was sure now that she was mad. He told her so, forcing the painful words out of his throat, reminding her of Sinharat and that she was going away from any possible help.
She said again, quite sanely, "Too far. Two—three days without water." She pointed. "Monastery—old well—a chance...."
Stark decided that he had little to lose by trusting her. He nodded and went with her toward the curve of rock.