That night, for the first time since arriving in the escarpment—perhaps for the first time in her life—Laira slept the night through, no nightmares haunting her.

The next morning, Jeid and she went into the forest to collect wild apples, berries, nuts, and mushrooms. They walked atop the escarpment's ledge, the trees rustling around them. It was late autumn, and many of the leaves had fallen, but small apples still grew upon the trees, and mushrooms still peeked from the carpet of red and orange leaves. A waterfall cascaded, raising mist, and geese honked above.

Laira wore the new fur cloak Jeid had given her, the best garment she had ever worn, and leather shoes—the only shoes she had ever owned—warmed her feet. As she walked, she gazed upon piles of fallen branches, mossy stones, and leaves that lay within bubbling streams, imagining faces. She had often played this game, seeking eyes, mouths, and noses in the forest, imagining that someday one of these creatures—perhaps with boulders for eyes, a log for a nose—would open its mouth and speak to her, an ancient spirit of the woods.

For a long time, Jeid walked silently. There was sadness in him too, Laira thought—something deep, dull, older than her pain but no less potent. Whatever his pain was, he never spoke of it. And Laira never spoke of hers. And so they walked silently, and that silence comforted her.

Finally, upon a slope thick with brush, he spoke. "Here, look. Wild apples."

Laira smiled to see the apple tree. She began to collect what fruit had fallen. Jeid—burly and tall, his arms almost as wide as Laira's entire body—proved surprisingly agile at climbing the tree. He tossed the fruit down to her, and she collected them in a pouch.

"I didn't know grizzly bears could climb!" she said, and for the first time in many years, she felt something strange, something that tugged at her crooked mouth. For so many years, her slanted mouth had remained closed, stiff, sad. Yet now warmth spread through her, and her lips tingled, and Laira smiled.

Jeid smiled down from above—a huge grin that showed his white teeth. "Grizzlies are excellent climbers. We—"

Suddenly he wobbled. Laira gasped. The branch he stood on creaked, and Jeid fell. He landed hard on his feet, wobbled for a moment, then fell onto his backside. He blinked up at Laira, seeming more confused than hurt.

"I guess not," he said.

Laira sat down beside him, the leaves crunching beneath her. She leaned against him. He was beefy and huge; she was a wisp of a thing. She thought that if anyone passed by, they would mistake them for a gruff old bear and a scrawny little fox.