"I understand," I told him, even though he couldn't hear me.
Or mostly couldn't hear me.
"I'm going to show you something," he said.
And suddenly in the white snow there was a silver garland.
"This is one of your pack bonds," he told me.
I couldn't see him, but I could feel him walking beside me as we followed the garland.
We stopped by the end, and there was a rock tied .
.
.
enveloped in a soft cage of silver.
The rock glowed a warm yellow that was very welcome in this cold place.
"Christmas garlands and a rock?" he said, a smile in his voice.
"Why not an ornament?" "Wolves aren't fragile," I told him.
"And they're .
.
.
stubborn and hard to move." "I guess that imagery works as well as anything," he allowed.
"Do you know who this is? Can you feel how worried she is for you?" "Mary Jo," I said.
And once he'd pointed it out to me, I could feel it, too.
Could feel that she was looking for me, running on four feet to use her nose to its best advantage.
She wasn't hot on the trail--and I had the impression of miles traveled and miles to go stretching out both ways in weary infinity.
"It is not usually so clear," Bran said, pulling me out of Mary Jo.
"Partially it is because I am with you--and I am the Marrok.
Another part is that the fairy has locked you into your own head--I can tell that by the quality of my contact with you.
That she has done this is an unforgivable offense "-- once more I felt him try to contain his anger--"but that will give you strength here you would not otherwise have had." He paused.
"The connection between you and me is stronger than it should be, too.
I'm not getting words back, but there is something .
.
.
No use getting distracted with the why of that now.