|Chapter 6: The High Lord|
When he met her eyes, he saw that they, too, were like Lena's. They glowed with something that was neither anger nor condemnation; they seemed to contradict the judgment he had heard a moment earlier.
"What are you going to do now?" he said weakly. "Atiaran wanted--wanted the Lords to punish me."
Abruptly, she left her seat, moved around behind him. She put her hands tenderly on his clenched brow and began to rub it, seeking to stroke away the knots and furrows. "Ah, Thomas Covenant," she sighed, with something like yearning in her voice. "I am the High Lord. I bear the Staff of Law. I fight for the Land, and will not quail though the beauty may die, or I may die, or the world may die. But there is much of Lena my mother in me. Do not frown at me so. I cannot bear it."
Her soft, cool, consoling touch seemed to burn his forehead.