He stood still, looking up, his head swiveling from side to side as he considered the surrounding walls.  Then he tipped his head further back, one hand raised against the blinding line of sun that poured over the upper edges of the crevasse.  It had deepened as they walked, Elsbeth realized as she too shielded her eyes and looked up; she guessed the top was now closer to fifteen feet above rather the ten it had been when they entered the passage.    

She suspected he was wondering whether they could climb out and continue their journey to the pass.  She groaned inwardly.  More climbing.  Her fingertips had stopped bleeding but even the idea made them sting again. 

Her guess was confirmed when he set down his bag and started up the rock wall.  He had apparently decided that the left side looked more agreeable than the right, and he began to climb close to, but not immediately against, the spot where the two met in the rough angle that closed the crevasse.  She supposed that was because his body was not fit all the way back into the jointure and he wanted a little extra space so as to not scrape his back or legs against protruding rock on the right side. 

Elsbeth watched his progress, not distracted — or at least not as much — by the sight.  For one thing, the view was not as good in the shadowy crevasse.  But the protest of her raw fingers was also too intense to ignore. 

She was not enthused about climbing again.  She flexed her hands, feeling now an ache not just in the scoured tips but the whole hand, and her forearms as well, certainly from the unaccustomed strain.    

But she knew that they should continue on their present path if they could.  They had come a considerable distance already; Elsbeth guessed they were about a quarter of the way to the pass, although her estimate could be wildly wrong, based on what she knew about its location from overhearing conversations between her father and his men about defending it.  They would lose a great deal of time if they had to backtrack and find a different route.  Another path could easily be much more dangerous.  In the crevasse, they were out of sight; if they had to travel over the exposed back of the mountain they would be far too easy to see.  Perhaps this crevasse resumed just a few feet beyond the closure, or another might lie nearby.  Murrow was right to check before deciding how they should proceed. 

She understood all that.  It didn’t make her want to climb again, but she would if they had too.

At least, she told herself, if more climbing were required, it looked like it would be easier.  Murrow was moving upward even faster than he had before.  The surface of the rock was rougher, the niches and bumps easier to find and larger.  She saw he was also using the opposite wall, close enough to touch but not accidentally, to help himself when he came to a tricky spot, bracing himself against the other side while he eased further up to a more likely hold. 

As she watched, he reached the top, pulled himself over, and disappeared.