We spend the afternoon and evening trying to set up camp, but a wind starts that blows the length of the valley and stymies our attempts to shelter. We ask Tanua if we can camp in one of the buildings, and she is very reluctant.

“This is a holy place,” she reiterates. “It was Gryick’s home. It would not be appropriate.”

Not appropriate. Right.

Needless to say, we neither of us sleep particularly well. I wake early the next morning and, being unable to go back to sleep, I try to see what I can find in the valley in the way of supply. Tanua, it turns out, is also awake.

“Inka,” she says, startling me. I turn to see her looming in the early morning light, standing against the wall of one of the buildings.

“Do you not sleep, Tanua?”

She laughs softly. “Oh, I sleep. But as I’ve grown older, I think my body and mind need less of it than they did when I was younger. You, though—I suspect you are quite young, by human standards.”

I blush, and am grateful for the low light. “I am a man,” I say, trying for a bit of defiance. My words ring hollow, and I feel my defiance melt. “But, yes, I am barely out of my boyhood.”

“Do you not need sleep, then?”

“Generally yes,” I say, and prove the point with an enormous yawn. “But this night was not a comfortable one. I thought to see if I might forage for some provisions, to restock our meager supply.”

“Ah!” Tanua says. “In that, I may be of some service.” She gestures for me to follow her.

She leads me around to one of the smaller structures, though “smaller” is a relative term. It is still built for giants, and might comfortably house all of Raven Hill. She leads me inside and shows me stacks of dried grains and preserved fruits and vegetables. “You may help yourself,” she says.

“The bags may be a bit large for me,” I say wryly, eying the giant-sized sacks and bins.

Tanua laughs. “Very true!” she says. “Tell me what you need, and I will measure it into a more reasonable portion for you.”

We spend a few minutes, then, with me indicating which bags and bins I would like to sample, and she obliges by putting what seems to be a minuscule amount of each into a tiny-seeming bag. When she hands the bag to me, perspective returns, and I find it uncomfortably heavy.

“Thank you, Tanua,” I say, trying not to stagger under the weight. I resolve to recruit Delkash to help carry it. “Also, I had a lot of time last night to think. I wanted to reiterate that I will get that ring for you, if I wasn’t clear.”

She nods. “That was what I understood from our discussion. Thank you, Inka.”

I set the bag down and pull my iron pendant from around my neck. “I don’t know how this is done among the giants, or if you have a different tradition entirely, but I would pledge my oath to you on this.”

Tanua nods her head. “We have a similar custom. Your word is sufficient for me, Ironlander.”

“Even so, if it will not offend, I would swear this vow on iron.”

She nods again, and I swear the oath, feeling a bit silly. Still, it also feels right to have the oath formalized, to acknowledge that I am sworn to her in this.

When I am done, Tanua picks up the bag, making it look tiny in her hand, and carries it for me to where Delkash is already stowing our bedding. She greets him, and he greets her, and she sets the bag down. “Now, Inka,” she says, “if you are ready, we should take some time preparing you for the Ordeal.”

Ordeal. I don’t much like the sound of that, but I square my shoulders and nod. “I am at your disposal, Tanua. Whenever is convenient for you.”

She leads me some distance from Delkash and we sit down among a small copse of trees.

“The pond,” she says, “is sacred.”

I nod, uncertain what response she expects from me.

“There is an ancient enchantment on the waters there, older even than Gryick, who thought that perhaps the Precursors themselves charmed the spring. The effect of this charm is that any who hold even a spark of pride are unable to approach the pond.”

“Are they hurt?” I ask, thinking of stories told around the campfires back in Timberwall, of magical glades protected by living trees, where the unworthy who enter might never emerge again.

Tanua chuckles. “No, only humbled. They are unable to approach because a dimness of sight will cover them. They grow confused, and soon discover that no amount of walking will bring them any closer to their goal.”

“But everyone has pride,” I say. “Anyone who says they don’t has just proven the point by boasting about their humility.”

Tanua smiles. “Perceptive,” she says. “However, you are not entirely correct. It is true that even the most humble person can discover pride in themselves, but it is also true that with the proper preparation, even the proudest person can empty themselves of pride for a time. All it takes is practice, and exercise.

“I will show you how,” she says.

For the next hour, she leads me in a series of meditations and mental exercises that reveal to me just how much pride I harbor. It is embarrassing, and frustrating, and even a little bit devastating. Still, my only hope right now is to obtain some of this water, and I humble myself over and over until finally, Tanua nods in approval.

“There,” she says. “You are getting it now. Take the time you need. Continue meditating. Tomorrow, I will make everything ready for you at the spring.”

I take a deep breath. “Thank you, Tanua.” Then, I close my eyes, and repeat the meditations again. And again.

And again.