Raistlin's feelings of shock and gratitude are deeply mitigated by being slung over his rescuer's shoulders like a sack of potatoes. He acknowledges that this is the most pragmatic solution, but that doesn't make him feel any better.

"North!" he gasps out. "The faeries said to run north!"

And as soon as he's relatively safe again, he's going to have to live with the knowledge that he said it. The smoke monster might have been a better deal.

His thoughts are all over the place - terror, confusion, thwarted fury - but somewhere at the center of it all is a still point. He's out of his depth, profoundly so, but he's still watching and analyzing everything, especially the things he doesn't understand.

Which is why he notices the strands of smoke curling across the grass behind them.

"Quickly, it's reforming!"