Roland tries to read Firo's face, his voice, tries to read the emotion there but, as he told Firo, right now Firo's face is closed to him. He can't focus on it long, anyway. There's wind blowing from the door, from around and under it, and Roland can see sand, the dirt from the hard, cracked desert ground blowing past behind Firo's head. He watches it, he shudders, pushes down the same fear that pushed that moan a minute ago out from his lips and the way his grip slides off Firo's shoulder is what brings his attention back to it. He grasps for the boy's arm, tries to feel the sleeve under his fingers, takes a breath.

"Shitty plan. Is that what we were talking about? Yes, that was it. Was it one?" Walk through it. He remembers how it was up on that mountain. Lay out those facts, then decide. "They knew our faces. There was one way up that mountain and one way down, unless you'd like to try your own feet and spend a couple days lost in the snow. Or worse. There was no hiding the body. Not forever. Guards all around. Was there a better plan? High as I am, I may be missing it. You show it to me, Firo. What should I have done?"