_elt

took a long sharp look at him. She could see his fear. She realized that she had often seen him afraid, but always facing that fear. This was the first time she’d seen him ready to break and run. His face was sweat-beaded and almost gray with terror. With shock she realized she could actually feel his fear. The core section in his ankle pouch must be freez­ing. Any minute now they’d have the Morkth on top of them. He had met other terrible foes along their travels, but this . . . the fear was inculcated in early youth, and distance and experience had done nothing to lessen it. Well, she’d been warned. She’d better prepare for it. “Lend me your small knife for a minute, please, Cay. I need to trim my nails, and put my moisturizing cream on,” she said calmly.
Mutely he handed her the tiny blade from his pocket. Biting the inside of her lip slightly, she set out to manipulate him. At least this time she was doing it for his own good. He was scared, des­perately scared for himself. She would shift the fear to worrying about the rest of them. Worrying about her. She knew he would react. He always did. He’d put his own prob­lems behind him somehow, and find the courage and resource to help his com­panions. She knew she had to break his funk before panic took over, but she still felt despicable doing this. “He’s going to kill me . . . and Leyla. Help us, Keilin, please!”
Her appeal did the trick, as she had known