Child of a Dead God

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sgaile awoke groggy and weak at the first streaks of dawn, but he remained silent until the others began to stir. To his surprise, the fire was still burning-someone had fed it regularly during the night. He sat up and found Osha squatting beyond the circle of bedrolls, keeping vigil.

Sgaile said nothing, though he wondered if he had been too harsh on his young student the night before.

His breeches were still damp, but his tunic and boots were reasonably dry by the fire. As the crew roused, daylight brought a sense of greater safety, and some wandered closer to the beach. Soon they had cookfires burning while others searched for wild berries or sea life along the beach's rock jetties. He watched their quiet attendance to necessities, until the hkomas approached.

The man's burns looked worse in the morning light. He made no mention of pain, but Sgaile knew better.

"We will travel the coastline," the hkomas said. "The forest here is dense, and we are too near human lands. We will be safer the farther north we go, though we must keep to the shore for our ships to find us."

Sgaile agreed but hesitated. "I travel south with my charges, as required by guardianship."

The hkomas's amber eyes flickered in surprise. All an'Croan respected the tradition of guardianship, but perhaps the hkomas thought Sgaile's protection of his own people should take precedence. With a frown, he turned away toward the beach.

Sgaile sighed and looked about to check on his charges. Wynn was again dressed in her loose elven clothing with the pant legs rolled up. She and Osha foraged for berries with the crew, while Magiere and Leshil inventoried the belongings they had salvaged before abandoning ship. Thankfully they had also retrieved the gifts of the Chein'as.

Strangest of all, Magiere had the dagger tucked into her belt at the small of her back. Its hilt was complete with leather strapping over the living wood that Sgaile had requested from the ship's hkoeda. He wondered how and when she had retrieved it.

Chap scrambled among the crew who were digging for clams. He sniffed about the beach, barking loudly now and then. At his call, crewmen came to dig where he stood. This morning, Sgaile's people did not seem to mind humans, half-bloods, or a wayward majay-hi in their midst. He was about to join in the foraging when the hkomas's young steward cautiously approached him.

"I am called Avranvard," she said.

"I know who you are," Sgaile replied and finished pulling on his boots.

The girl's eyes widened briefly. "May I speak with you… Sgailsheilleache?"

He stopped, suddenly uncomfortable. Something in this young woman's tense manner troubled him.

"Of course," he answered.

She gestured toward the clearing's edge, away from the camp. "In private."

He had little strength left for intrigue, but he followed her beyond earshot. At first she would not look him in the eye.

"I must come with you on your journey."

Sgaile's discomfort increased. "Your place is with your crew and hkomas. But do not fear. One of our ships will come for all of you."

Avranvard shook her head. "I am not concerned for my safety. I… I was sent by Most Aged Father to watch the humans and report."

"That is impossible," he stated flatly. "You are not Anmaglahk."

"I will be," she answered and finally raised her eyes to his. "Most Aged Father sent me-gave me this purpose. I must come with you."

She was so plainspoken and steadfast that Sgaile almost believed her. He felt the blood drain from his face. How could Most Aged Father place an untrained girl in this position? And why send someone to report on those under Sgaile's guardianship… as if he could not be trusted?

Avranvard's young face grew troubled. "Sgailsheilleache?"

He glared down at her until she began to fidget.

"Listen carefully," he said, exerting calm into his voice. "You will remain with your crew and make your way with them back to our lands. Do otherwise, and I will expose you to your hkomas. Do you understand?"

"But… I have a purpose… from Most Aged Father! There is another-"

"You will serve no purpose at all," Sgaile cut in sharply, "should your hkomas and all the seafaring clans learn of your subterfuge among them. Your duty is to your hkomas and crew!"

He grabbed her by the wrist, prepared to haul her back to camp, but she broke free before he took three steps. She shifted toward the beach, watching him with a pained shake of her head as if her world had turned over and was not as it should be.

Sgaile remained silent and stern. Avranvard turned and ran.

He had no patience left for hero worship or shattered illusions. Perhaps now he understood why Brot'an'duive and other caste elders so often shied from the people. An'Croan saw their protectors in the garb of the Anmaglahk, but they knew little of what that life required.

And now he, too, was left in ignorance.

Sgaile had tried to ignore the growing animosity between Most Aged Father and Brot'an'duive. It seemed both had expectations for his current purpose-and neither had fully related these to him. He did not know who to trust, and this left him reeling.

All Anmaglahk must trust in each other, or their people would suffer from the discord.

He scanned the beach, spotting the hkomas near the hidden skiffs. The man must still be wondering why two anmaglahk would abandon a stranded crew for humans and a half-blood. But Sgaile had no time for guilt-driven explanations, as he headed over.

"Your steward is more traumatized by the death of your ship than the rest of your crew," he began. "Keep her close, and be certain she remains under watch for a few days."

The hkomas studied him and then slowly turned sad eyes to the empty sea.

"I never thought to see any Pairvanean, who blessed my clan, murdered by humans. Yes, Avranvard is young, and such a loss might be worse for her… I will watch over her."

Sgaile nodded with gratitude and walked back toward the campfire, but the exchange did nothing to ease his mind.

Magiere and Leshil had finished repacking and stood talking quietly. Leshil had suffered only minor scorches on his face and hands. In all other respects, he was well enough, but Sgaile remembered the state of Magiere's gloves. She no longer wore them.

Her bare hands were pale and unblemished-with no sign of burns.

Sgaile looked up quickly at her face, but she did not seem to notice. Dressed in breeches, hauberk, and coat, she hefted one pack.

"Can we get started?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, still staring at her.

Magiere returned her habitual scowl. "What?"

"Nothing."

A tall elven sailor hurried upslope, stopping in front of Sgaile.

"The hkomas says you go south… with the humans." And before Sgaile could respond, the sailor pulled off his thick cloak and held it out. "Take this and my gloves. I will not need them, as our people will come for us."

The cloak was deep brown, not dark shifting green-gray. Sgaile's exhaustion mounted at this sacrifice. The sailor did not know him; the man saw only a revered member of the Anmaglahk.

"I cannot."

"Please," the man said. "Do me this honor."

Sgaile almost flinched. His thoughts slipped once to a strange lesson his own jeoin, his teacher, had once told him.

What are we beyond how our people see us?

Young and ignorant, and still full of awe for his teacher, Sgaile had been unable to think of an answer. Years later, he overheard Brot'an'duive reiterate this lesson to a handful of new caste initiates, all still years away from seeking out their own jeoin.

We are more, we are less, Brot'an'duive admonished, and we are nothing but silence and shadow. All we can do is accept their hope in us with the humility it deserves.

This was the truth behind the litany of Anmaglahk-in silence and in shadows.

To serve, and not to place oneself above or below that service, no matter what shape or form it took. To be the silence of peace that surrounds duty, and the one who guards it from within the shadows.

Sgaile slowly reached out and grasped the cloak and gloves. "Thank you."

The sailor smiled with great relief and headed back for the beach. But the man's reverent act of kindness left Sgaile more burdened-more uncertain.

He wanted to slip away with his word-wood and speak to Most Aged Father, to somehow understand the patriarch's sudden lack of faith in him. Then he thought on Brot'an'duive's silent scheming and the Chein'as's gifts given to Leshil-Leshiarelaohk, so named by the ancestors. And a majay-hi, like those of ancient times, had thrown itself into the lives of a half-blood and a pale monster of a woman.

Stretched between too many paths, Sgaile had to choose one to follow.

"Are we going or not?" Magiere demanded.

Sgaile turned toward the beach. "Chap, it is time!"

Not long ago, the thought of calling a sacred majay-hi by a personal name would have shocked him.

Chap loped upslope, looking over Magiere and Leshil as Wynn and Osha joined them as well. The majay-hi glanced at the cookfires burning along the beach, where the crew prepared a good catch of clams. He released a groaning whine.

"We will find breakfast along the way," Sgaile assured him.

Chap grumbled and trotted off, and Magiere followed. As Leshil stepped in behind her, Sgaile noticed the tips of the Chein'as's winged blades peeking from his pack. Leshil's continued discomfort regarding the weapons was clear.

"May I wear your old blades?" Sgaile asked cautiously. "The new ones should take their place, and you will walk more easily with less weight."

Leshil cast a narrow-eyed glance over one shoulder. "Why don't you wear the new ones?"

It was more of a challenge than a question.

"I could not." Sgaile shook his head. "They were given to you."

"Oh, just do it, already!" Magiere snapped at Leshil. "You're the one who insisted I accept the dagger."

"They don't fit my sheaths," Leshil argued.

"I can make alterations," Sgaile countered, "while we walk."

For all the bitter ire in Magiere's voice, none showed on her face as she looked intently at Leshil.

"They're only weapons-nothing more," she said. "You choose what to do with them."

"Fine!" Leshil growled and dropped his pack. He jerked the tie straps of his old blades, pulled the gifted ones from his pack, and thrust both sets at Sgaile.

Sgaile took them, and Leshil hoisted his pack and pushed past Magiere after Chap.

Sgaile slipped Leshil's old blades from their sheaths. He handed both sets of blades to Osha, and, as they walked along the shore, he drew a stiletto and began altering the sheaths.

As he worked, he pondered this next leg of their journey-born not from hope but determination. He was tired of Magiere's and Leshil's ill-mannered petulance. Their mood proved infectious, and Sgaile grumbled under his breath as he cut leather.

By midday, Hkuan'duv was pacing the deck.

Avranvard had not contacted him at dawn, and he had called for anchor, not knowing how far ahead the other ship might be. Soon his concern gave way to open worry.

Danvarfij leaned with one hip against the rail-wall, watching him. "Can you not contact her instead?"

"No… I cannot risk revealing her presence, even to that ship's hkoeda and hkomas."

"Then cease stomping on the Pairvanean's back," she said. "You will disturb it."

He glared at her calm face, her skin like tea tinted with goat's milk. "Something is wrong."

"I know we cannot be seen," she returned, "but neither can we lose track of their ship."

"Inform the hkomas," he said. "But make certain our pace is cautious."

Danvarfij pushed off the rail-wall and headed for the aftcastle.

Hkuan'duv turned his gaze down the coast, feeling trapped by the constraints of his purpose. He was not accustomed to hiding from his people or those of his own caste.

Kurhkage emerged from the hatch below the forecastle, followed by A'harhk'nis. As always, the latter appeared deceptively spindly in his oversized cloak. Kurhkage fixed his one eye upon Hkuan'duv.

"We are moving," he said. "Have you received communication?"

Hkuan'duv shook his head. "We must attempt to locate the ship ourselves."

Danvarfij rejoined them, and all four headed up to the bow, scanning the waters ahead. Several crew members glanced at them, but no one spoke. The hkomas's strained voice rose in orders to his crew.

A'harhk'nis looked up into the rigging. "I should relieve the lookout and watch for myself."

His voice was so quiet that it was difficult to hear, but Hkuan'duv agreed. "Yes. Good."

A'harhk'nis stepped upon the rail-wall, snatched the rope ladder to the mainmast, and clambered upward.

His sharp eyes might be no better than those of a seasoned crewman, but should they close too quickly upon the other ship, Hkuan'duv felt more secure in A'harhk'nis's judgment. But as the day wore on, no word came from above.

"What if the girl was discovered?" Kurhkage asked. "What would Sgailsheilleache do?"

Hkuan'duv turned away from the prow, not wanting to answer. Indeed, what would he himself do if one of his own caste were sent to spy on him? He did not wish to even think about it. He must focus on his purpose, for the sake of his people.

"Greimasg'ah!" A'harhk'nis called from high above. "Look to the beach!"

Hkuan'duv turned to lean upon the shoreward rail-wall.

Even at this distance, their hair glowed in the afternoon sun. Tall figures moved up the coastline and became distinct as they approached. He realized he was looking at an an'Croan ship's crew, but why were they ashore, and where was their Pairvanean?

"Are there outsiders with them?" Hkuan'duv called up.

"No… I see only an'Croan."

Amid the captain's call and the crew's shouts, they began preparing a skiff. Several people onshore saw the oncoming ship. They waved their arms and cloaks in the air.

Hkuan'duv leaped down the forecastle stairs, closing on the skiff being lowered over the side.

"A'harhk'nis, come down," he shouted.

He scanned the sea, but saw no sign of the other Pairvanean. What had become of Sgailsheilleache, Osha… and the humans?

As the ship came to anchor, Hkuan'duv stepped to the rail-wall gate, taking up the skiff's anchoring line. The hkomas rushed in and jerked it from his hand.

"This is no longer your concern," he said. "Our people are stranded. They take precedence over this pursuit of yours."

Hkuan'duv almost let anger get the better of him. But the hkomas was correct, his harsh tone justified, and who could blame him? Anmaglahk had taken polite control of his vessel, and they trailed their own people like a pack of skulking Ylladon.

"I must know what happened," Hkuan'duv explained, "and as quickly as possible."

"Then you are welcome to accompany my crew, Greimasg'ah."

The hkomas's hard words clearly implied who was now in charge.

"You may ask your questions," the hkomas added, "so long as you do not impinge upon the well-being of those left stranded."

Hkuan'duv nodded slowly. He gestured to his team to wait on board and descended quickly into the skiff.

As the small boat closed upon the shore, two of the exhausted land-bound crew waded out to guide it in. Hkuan'duv saw burns and other injuries among those stranded, and the knot in his stomach tightened. He counted heads, and by a quick estimate, a fourth of a standard cargo vessel crew was missing. A middle-aged man in a brown head scarf came closer. His face and arm were badly burned.

"Anmaglahk?" he breathed in surprise. "How did you reach us so quickly? Did Sgailsheilleache send word?"

"You are the hkomas?" Hkuan'duv asked. "Where is your ship? Where is Sgailsheilleache?"

The questions sounded cold even to Hkuan'duv.

"We came upon and pursued a Ylladon ship, after hearing of a settlement raid." His voice faltered. "They turned on us with no regard for their own vessel… and burned the Pairvanean."

Hkuan'duv blinked in chilled disbelief.

"Our hkoeda sent a swimmer," the hkomas added. "Which sent the Ylladon to bottom."

"You had swimmers on a cargo vessel?" Hkuan'duv asked, and then waved off the question before the hkomas answered. "What of Sgailsheilleache?"

The hkomas scowled, not expecting this exchange. "He left with the humans and a majay-hi, traveling south along the coast."

"On foot?"

"Yes, on foot," the man snapped. "How else?"

Shame flooded Hkuan'duv as he looked at the pinched, burned faces and frightened eyes of his people. Their ship had been murdered and a fourth of them with it, while he had sat waiting beyond the horizon for Avranvard. She must have died in the battle, or she would have called him.

"You have my sorrow," he whispered and meant it. "We will take everyone aboard and get them home."

The hkomas closed his eyes and nodded.

The skiff was loaded first with those with the worst injuries. Hkuan'duv waded into the surf as two more skiffs arrived. He pulled one ashore and began helping his people climb in. As the last boarded, Hkuan'duv reached out and touched the hkomas's hand.

"I have others of my caste on board. Please tell them I wait here, and to bring all of our gear. Tell them to ask the ship's crew for as much white canvas or cloth as they can spare. Safe journey and peace to you."

The hkomas nodded. "And to you… wherever you walk now."

Hkuan'duv stood alone upon the shore, watching the skiffs rock through the surf toward the ship. Or was he alone?

He cocked his head at footsteps coming along the beach behind him.

The sound faltered several times in a fumbling attempt at silence. He did not turn until he knew this amateur skulker was within reach, and then he found himself facing a girl with a thick braid and oversized boots.

"I am Avranvard," she said quietly.

Hkuan'duv suppressed his surprise.

"Why did you not board with your crew?" he demanded.

After an instant of her own shock, she replied, "I belong with you-"

"Why did you not contact me?"

"It all happened too quickly," she rushed on, her voice pained. "I was on deck amid the fire and could not abandon my duties to send word. I… I tried to help… but everything was burning."

Hkuan'duv breathed out through his mouth. This child was not to blame. She was not Anmaglahk and never should have been placed in this role.

"It is all right," he said. "You followed your duty. No one would expect otherwise."

He waited as Avranvard regained her composure.

"Can you tell me more of what happened?" he asked.

She sniffed and began recalling bits and pieces of the marauder vessel's first sighting-and the strange behavior of Magiere and the majay-hi. She told of the an'Croan woman dangled over the side of the Ylladon ship, cut loose to drown, and how Sgailsheilleache had jumped overboard to go after her. Beyond these details, events had become too chaotic for the girl to follow as she recounted trying to put out the flames consuming the ship.

Hkuan'duv listened silently with patience.

"But on the beach," Avranvard added in the end, "Sgailsheilleache abandoned us! I told him who I was… that Most Aged Father sent me… but he refused me and left with those humans."

Hkuan'duv's lips parted in brief hesitation. "You did not tell him of my presence?"

She straightened. "Of course not. My purpose was to watch and report to you, and nothing more. But now I am cut off."

"Do not be concerned. Join your crew, and you will be home again soon."

Avranvard stared at him, and her young features went slack. "But… I am with you. I did just as Most Aged Father asked me."

Hkuan'duv was uncertain how to respond. What had this girl been promised?

"I must travel quickly," he explained. "My team and I go south. You must return with the ship."

"No!" she nearly shouted. "I am to be Anmaglahk! Most Aged Father promised. I will help you track Leshil and the humans."

Hkuan'duv had no intention of explaining the skills required, ones Avranvard did not possess. Yet, for all she had done and all she had been through, he pitied her.

This selfish, defiant young woman would never be accepted as an initiate. Her spirit was entirely unsuitable. How could Most Aged Father promise such to someone who did not possess the necessary potential? But that lie was all Hkuan'duv had left to save Avranvard from herself.

"If you are Anmaglahk," he said sternly, "you will follow the request of your caste elder. Join your crew and return to Ghoivne Ajhajhe."

"No!" she cried angrily. Then she cringed, looking at him-not unlike an obstinate child second-guessing her outburst.

"Should I escort you to the ship?" he asked.

Avranvard's lips rolled inward, clenched tightly, but her eyes began to glisten. Before one tear could fall, she turned away and dropped to her haunches upon the rocky beach.

Hkuan'duv remained silent, even as the skiff turned from the distant ship and headed back for shore with his comrades. In part, he regretted any ill feelings toward this girl, who had fed him information in the pursuit of his purpose. But kindness was not always a kindness. In the end, any solace he offered would only sting Avranvard more.

A'harhk'nis, Kurhkage, and Danvarfij jumped into the surf and pulled the skiff ashore.

Avranvard remained as still and quiet as a small stone on the beach. As Hkuan'duv's companions joined him with their gear, the girl finally climbed into the skiff. The two crewmen pushed the boat back into the surf.

Hkuan'duv faltered, calling out before he thought better of it. "In silence and in shadows… Avranvard."

She did not turn to acknowledge him.

"What was that about?" Danvarfij asked, gazing after the girl.

"Nothing," he answered.

This was the first lie he had ever told Danvarfij. He had been asked to track-and perhaps betray-members of his own caste, including the honorable Sgailsheilleache. Now Most Aged Father had made false promises to an immature girl. It was obvious that Avranvard had been denied admittance to the caste once before. Why else would she have been offered this odd purpose, and cling to it in frantic desperation?

Hkuan'duv steeled himself against doubt.

Most Aged Father had always placed the people's welfare above all things. If he had done this, then he had a purpose.

"Sgailsheilleache will keep to the coast for as long as possible," A'harhk'nis said. "If he and his charges seek a destination in any mountains, they must round the far end of the Blade Range. They have over a half day's lead on us."

A sensible assessment. "Then let us begin," Hkuan'duv said and turned south at a jog.

But he glanced once at the ship, the living Pairvanean, still floating upon the sea. That tawny vessel, flickering with green in the sunlight, carried the girl with a twice-crushed dream.

Wynn tried to hide her relief when Sgaile called a halt to the day's trek.

Walking all day after so much time aboard ship was an unexpected effort. By noon, her knees were trembling, and near dusk she was struggling to keep up. Even worse, no one else was having the same trouble.

Leesil was only too glad to have his feet on dry land, and Magiere's obsession gripped her even harder. Sgaile told her to slow down several times during the day. Even Chap had difficulty keeping ahead of Magiere.

Trudging along behind everyone, Wynn had studied her companions. At times her sorrowful memories of the night before seemed echoed in their expressions. No matter how hard she tried, she could not put aside the fire and screams and smoke-and the sight of the ship's tawny deck blackened and splitting beneath the flames.

"Stop," Sgaile called out. "We must make camp."

Magiere whirled around at the lead. "There's plenty of daylight left!"

"Preparations must be made before entering the mountains," he said. "We will need this daylight, and more each day, to gather necessities."

Thankfully, Leesil dropped his pack. "He's right. Help me start a fire."

He reached out for Magiere's hand. She breathed through her mouth a few times, and finally let him pull her along.

Osha gathered their gear by a fallen tree at the beach top, and Wynn crouched with him behind that barrier against the wind.

"This will do nicely," she said.

Osha nodded, but he peered over the tree's weather-bleached trunk, watching where Leesil had taken Magiere. Wynn hoped Leesil could keep Magiere pacified in their slow progress, and she set to inspecting their supplies and gear.

So far, she'd had no chance to see what Leesil had salvaged from the ship. He had assured her that the elven quill, ink, and parchments Gleann had given to her were in one of the packs. Chap came to sit beside her.

Wynn studied the sleeves of her coat. She had worn it a few times to satisfy Magiere, but the garment felt constricting and heavy-and she had lost Chane's cloak in the fire.

What of the cold lamp crystal?

She blinked at Chap's sudden question, and reached inside her coat to the pocket of her elven tunic.

"It is safe," she answered.

Osha turned a puzzled glance her way, obviously thinking she spoke to him.

"Never mind," she told him. "Just… it is nothing."

He wrinkled his brow and went off to scavenge firewood.

To Wynn's surprise, Sgaile knelt down to examine the packs, and his tan, handsome face leaned close to hers. His manner had changed since their first meeting, though he remained reserved in her company.

"Do we have a cooking pot?" he asked.

Together, they pulled objects from the packs. Wynn found a large pouch of herbal tea, also several flints, coils of thin rope made from silken fibers, three water flasks-but only two wooden mugs. They would have to share.

"Ah, here," she said, pulling out a tin pot. "We can make tea, but we will need more fresh water soon."

"We will find streams along the way. But in the mountains, higher up, we must melt snow to fill our flasks."

Wynn looked at their few other belongings.

"Leesil grabbed some tarp and two small blankets." She sighed. "But no food… after all Magiere's careful preparations. We never anticipated being shipwrecked."

Sgaile reached behind himself, beneath his cloak, and pulled out a folded square of green-gray. When he shook it out, it became a drawstring bag of reasonable size.

"Come," he said. "Fire will be more of a concern in the heights than water."

Wynn was uncertain of his meaning, but she followed him into the trees above the beach. Chap trotted after her.

The landscape was appealing in a harsh way. White-edged waves tumbled against the beach below, driving foaming arches up the gravelly shore and sending soft spray into the air over craggy jetties. The rough foothills were covered with dense pockets of spruce and aspen, and Wynn spotted thick redwoods higher up. To the west and above, the snow-capped peaks of the Blade Range cut the sky. More directly south, she thought she could make out where they ended far away. Somewhere in that direction was their way into the higher mountains, the Pock Peaks.

"Look here," Sgaile said and crouched down.

Wynn clambered along the sharp slant between the trees. Where he pointed she saw animal droppings at the base of an aspen.

"From a deer?" she asked. "Are you going hunting?"

"No, I will find sea life near the jetties. You can gather droppings and put them in this bag."

"Excuse me?" Wynn said.

"If Osha or I have time, we will help," Sgaile added. "This must be done every evening so long as we have opportunity. We will dry what we find by the fire."

Wynn wrinkled her nose. "You want me to collect… animal dung?"

"Yes," he answered, as if the reason were obvious. "From what little Magiere described, we will go far above any tree line, where there is little or no fuel for a fire. Herbivore droppings can be burned, and this may be our only source of heat."

"Oh… clever," Wynn said, but it was still a disgusting task. She knelt at the aspen's base, calling out, "Chap, time to put your nose to work."

Chap let out a rumbling whine and licked his nose at her, but he began poking about the rough slope. When Wynn looked up, Sgaile was gone. She picked up her first chunk of dung with only forefinger and thumb and dropped it quickly into the sack.

She kept at this until daylight waned, following Chap's huffs and barks to find fuel more quickly than she could by sight. In the end, they barely filled the bottom of the sack. Wynn decided to clean her hands in the sea and headed down for the beach.

When she emerged on the rocky shore, she did not see their camp. Rather than stop to wash just yet, she stepped farther out and looked both ways. She spotted the old downed tree to the north and headed off with Chap following. Before she was a stone's throw from camp, she slowed, and all thoughts of cleanliness emptied from her head.

Sgaile and Osha stood bent over in hip-deep water where the surf was calmer behind a rocky outcrop. They were bare to the waist, their cloaks and tunics lying high on the beach. A pile of silvery fish wriggled on the rocks near their clothing.

The two elves kept as still as trees with their hands sunk just below the water's surface. Their blond hair hung loose across their tan shoulders.

Osha dropped sharply, his arms spearing deep into the water.

He straightened, droplets spraying off his wet arms, and a flat gray form thrashed in his hands. He waded quickly toward the beach, and when the foaming surf receded to his shins, he flung the captured flounder onto the gravel.

"How many?" he asked in Elvish.

Wynn started and then hurried over to the pile. "Um… eight."

But Osha had already waded back out to Sgaile, and they spoke too low for her to hear over the surf.

Wynn kept staring. Osha seemed different-less awkward, almost graceful in the undulating water, catching fish with his bare hands. He turned back with Sgaile and they waded toward her and stepped smoothly out of the surf.

Wynn fidgeted with a strange nervous energy, as if Osha were a stranger. Half-dressed, with the ends of wet silken hair clinging to his shoulders, he looked so…

"What is wrong?" he asked.

Wynn swallowed. "Nothing… um… we will never eat all these tonight."

"There are ways to make it last longer," Osha answered with a smile.

He and Sgaile began pulling on their tunics. Wynn looked away until they finished.

"Can you carry our cloaks?" Osha asked and, without waiting, he snatched up the remaining catch and headed off after Sgaile.

"Of course," Wynn answered, but as she crouched to pick them up, she spotted Chap.

He was squatting on the gravel, watching her intently, and then glanced once after Osha before wrinkling his brows at her. A heated blush spread over Wynn's face.

"Just keep your muzzle shut!" she said and quickly bundled up the cloaks to stalk off.

Back at camp, Leesil had started the fire and already boiled water for tea. Magiere leaned against the fallen tree. She faced toward the south.

Sgaile and Osha set to cleaning fish over a hole they had dug in the gravel. Once done, they buried the waste and spitted several fish to roast over the flames. They hung the rest of their catch higher above the fire's rising smoke. Osha produced a small pouch and pinched out a green powder. He rubbed this all over the hanging fish.

Chap whined and licked his muzzle.

"Not long now," Sgaile said.

"Why so much?" Leesil asked. "The extra won't smoke or even dry fully by morning."

"Yes-they will," Sgaile answered. "Osha is using powdered cl'leichiojh."

"Woodridge?" Wynn asked. "The tree growths Osha showed me on our journey through your land?"

Sgaile nodded.

"Hold on," Leesil cut in. "He's rubbing fungus all over our food?"

Sgaile shook his head. "It is edible and has astringent properties. We must build food stores before reaching the high range Magiere seeks."

Magiere continued staring south, her features intently drawn. Her fingers kept clutching and scraping absently upon the dead tree's gray wood. Wynn exchanged a glance of mutual concern with Sgaile. Fortunately the water reached boiling, and they set to making tea.

For the first time, Wynn was genuinely glad Sgaile had chosen to come with them.

And Osha as well.