Wren picks up the bowl. It is hot against her gauntlet, so she pulls the glove off to hold it — which feels like losing a tactical advantage she never quite had. The soup is embarrassingly good. The warmth goes all the way down and reminds her she has not eaten since the night before. "Three seasons is a long time to camp in a mist-wood," she says. "What are you looking for?" Maret stirs the pot and takes her time about answering, which Wren suspects is her way of measuring a person. "My daughter walked in on the autumn equinox, two years past," she says at last. "Following a light she said moved like a lantern but wasn't one. I haven't found her. But I've found most of the wood, which is more than most." She taps the ladle on the rim. "Now. You owe me an answer in return, false knight. What are you looking for — and what will you give for directions that might get you there?"