"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.