The man stays with him. Later, Dong-Yun will remember, this is all he cared to glean and to secure: that the man who saved his life and ensured he would not die alone like a beast at the feet or mouth of a volcano, also generously doled out his company.

He seems intent to do anything at all to retain it, desperate not to remain alone. The night is too dark, the road too long. They might still lie in wait, for Dong-Yun.

"I don't remember much of him. I was young." But then, hastily, as if he realises the failure to say anything of use insults his rescuer, "He wore a white cloak. I remember thinking, who would? In a forest? It's calling for trouble. But we thought, he must have a maid of some kind. Or a woman, his own woman. And he gave us children treats. Used to be, he carried pouchful. Foreign pieces, some a little bitter, but if you ate those, you could ask again, and maybe you'd end up with the ones that tasted of fruit. He told us stories."