The storm was growing stronger. The rain drummed in an irregular rhythm on Celduin's tent's roof.

Olivia was still startled and more than a little offended that Celduin had dropped her at his tent and then ridden away. At least her clothes and ponytail were no longer dousing the floor. And the tent was very well appointed and orderly, the very opposite of Lisdra's. The only thing she did not like was the closeness of the trees. The wind drove branches against the canvas so that there were constant rustlings and scrapings, punctuated by an occasional thump.

Olivia heard a new noise: a wet, thick dripping, as though mud was falling for a height. She went to the opening of the tent, peering towards the sound but could see nothing through the brush and the ever increasing rain.