On top of that, he frequently attacked her with his willow sword and poked fun at her if she didn't put in her absolute hardest fight.
In a way, finally beating Richard in one of their mock sword fights puzzled her. He might have been tired from carrying the heaviest pack and scouting some of the steeper trails by himself first and then coming back for them, but he hadn't slacked off, and she had still killed him. She couldn't help but be pleased with herself, even if she did question her victory. Out of the corner of her eye, she had caught him smiling as he looked at her. Kahlan knew Richard was proud of her for besting him. In a way, his losing was a victory for him.
Kahlan thought that she must be stronger, now, after all Richard had put her through, than at any time in her life. It had not been easy, but it had been worth at last feeling like the carving in the window of her bedroom.
Kahlan put a hand on Richard's shoulder as he followed Cara down broken granite blocks placed by chance like big, irregular steps. "Richard, how did I beat you?"
He saw in her eyes the seriousness of the question. "You killed me because I made a mistake."
"A mistake? You mean, perhaps you had gotten too confident? Perhaps you were just tired, or were thinking of something else."
"Doesn't really matter, does it? Whatever it was, it was a mistake that cost me my life in the game. In a real fight, I would have died. You've taught me a valuable lesson to redouble my resolve to always put in my absolute full effort. It just goes to remind me, though, that I could make a mistake at any time, and lose."
Kahlan couldn't help but to be struck by the obvious question: was he making a mistake in staying out of the effort to keep the Midlands free from the tyranny of the Imperial Order? She couldn't help feeling the pull to help her people, even though Richard still felt that if the people didn't want his leadership, his efforts could do no good. As Mother Confessor, Kahlan knew that while people didn't always understand that what a leader did was done in their best interest, that was no reason to abandon them.
With winter coming on, she hoped the Imperial Order would choose to stay put in Anderith. Kahlan needed to convince Richard to return to help the Midlands, but she was at a loss to know how. He was firm in his reasoning, and she could find no chink in the armor of his logic. Emotion did not sway him in this.
Cara led them down the craggy precipice, having to backtrack only twice. It was a difficult descent. Cara was pleased with herself, and that Richard had let her pick the route. It was her pelt they were going after, so he let her lead them across the tangle of undergrowth in the ravine at the bottom and then up the following lip of the notch where trees clung with roots like talons to the rocky rise.
The wind coming up the ravine had turned bitter. The clouds had thickened until they snuffed out the golden rays of sunlight. Their ascent took them up into a gloomy, dark wood of towering evergreens. Far over their heads, the treetops swayed in the wind, but down on the ground, it was still. Their footfalls were hushed by a thick spongy mat of brown needles.
The climb was steep, but not arduous. As they ascended, the big trees grew farther and farther apart. The boughs became scraggly, allowing more of the somber light to seep in. For the most part, the rocks higher up were bare of moss and leaves. In places they had to use handholds on the rock, or else roots, to help them climb. Kahlan pulled deep breaths of the cold air; it felt good to test her muscles.
They came out of the forest into the steel-gray light of late afternoon and the moaning voice of the wind. They were in the crooked wood.
The scree and rock were naked of the thick moss common lower down the mountain, but they bore yellow-green splotches of lichen outlined in black.
Only a bit of scraggly brush clung to the low places here and there. But it was the trees that were the most odd, and gave the place at the top of the tree line its name. They were all stunted-few taller than Kahlan or Richard.
Most of the branches grew to one side because of the prevailing winds, leaving the trees looking like grotesque, running skeletons frozen in torment.
Above the crooked wood, few things other than sedges and lichens grew.
Above that, the snowcap held sway.
"Here it is," Cara said.
They found the wolf sprawled on the scree beside a low boulder with a dark stain of dried blood at the sharp edge. Up higher, the pack of gray wolves had been trying to take down a woodland caribou. The old bull had grazed the unlucky wolf with a kick. That in itself would likely not have been anything more than painful, but the wolf had slipped from the higher ledge and fallen to its death. Kahlan ran her fingers through the thick, yellow-gray coat tipped in black. It was in good condition, and would be a warm addition to Cara's winter mantle.
Richard and Cara started skinning the good-sized female animal as Kahlan went out to the edge of an overhang. She drew her own mantle up around her ears as she stood in the bitter wind surveying the approaching clouds. She was somewhat startled by what she saw.
"Richard, it's not drizzle coming our way," Kahlan said. "It's snow."
He looked up from his bloody work. "Do you see any wayward pines down in the valley?"
She squinted down to the valley floor spread out before her.
"Yes, I see a couple. The snow is still a ways off. If you're not long at that, we can probably make it down there and collect some wood before it gets wet."
"We're almost done," Cara said.
Richard stood to have a quick look for himself. With a bloody hand, he absently fifted his real sword a few inches and then let it drop back, a habit he had of checking to make sure the weapon was clear in its scabbard.
It was an unsettling gesture. He had not drawn the weapon from its hilt since the day he had been forced to kill all those men who had attacked them back near Hartland.
"Is something wrong?"
"What?" Richard saw where her eyes were looking and glanced down at the sword on his hip. "Oh. No, nothing. Just habit, I guess."
Kahlan pointed. "There's a wayward pine, there. It's the closest, and good-sized, too."
Richard wiped the back of his wrist across his brow, swiping his hair away from his eyes. His fingers glistened with blood. "We'll be down there, sheltered by a wayward pine, sitting beside a cozy fire having tea before dark. I can stretch the hide on the branches inside and scrape it there. The snow will help insulate us inside the tree's boughs. We'll have a good rest before heading back in the morning.