"Childish," Bariyan said, again, "and selfish." There was a bite in his words now, cold and bitter and grieving, but it was perhaps stronger in his voice than it was in his heart. His hands in fists again -- when had that happened?

He had more to say, a whole deluge of words, but the cold that he could not feel froze them in his throat. So for the moment Bariyan said nothing more. Let his accusations hang on the air. All the clearer and sharper for this land and weather.

And what about you?, he wondered. Had he not once felt the same way as Martin-- did he not still? He did, despite all the good that it had done him in a different life. Hypocritical, pathetic.