"Well," replied Green, "I don't know what you intend doing, but I'm going into that cave. I'm too tired to run any further."
"So are we," affirmed the other women. "We've reached the end of our strength."
There was a silence, and into that silence came a voice, a man's.
It whispered, "Please do not be startled. Be quiet. It is I...."
Miran stepped out of the shadows behind them, holding his finger to his lips, his one eye round and pale in the moonlight. He was a ragged captain, not at all the elegantly uniformed commander of the Bird of Fortune and the wealthy-appearing patriarch of the Clan Effenycan. But he carried in his other hand a canvas bag. Green, seeing it, knew that Miran had managed somehow not only to escape with his skin but had also carried off a treasure in jewels.
"Behold," he announced, waving the bag, "all is not lost."
Green thought that he was referring to the jewels. However, Miran had turned and beckoned to someone in the darkness behind him.
Out of it slipped Grizquetr. Tears shone in his eyes as he ran to his mother and fell into her arms.
Amra began weeping softly. Until now she had repressed her grief over the children she thought forever lost to her. All thought had been directed to saving her own life and the lives of the two girls who had survived with her. Now, seeing her eldest son emerge from the shadows as if from the grave had thawed the frozen well of sorrow.
She sobbed, "I thank the gods that they have given me back my son."