“Up the hill to your right. We have a good view of the south wall of the camp from there.”

They came to a circular clearing and there, ahead of her, was the misty waterfall she had seen in the PlAK’s screen, falling white from the top of a high cliff onto tiers of glistening grey rock and then into a deep green pool.

They stood together. “It used to be bigger,” Kes said. She wanted him to stand closer.

“Do you want to swim?” he asked. “We could, but we have to do it right now, before the others wake up. We use this water for drinking.”

“I don’t want to swim,” she said. “Thank you for bringing me here. It’s peaceful. Hopeful.”

“Shall I leave you alone?”

“No. Stay. We can go back together.”

After some time, she left Kes’s side and walked to the edge of the pool, loving the heavier spray on her skin, listening to the ceaseless sound of falling water. Her body felt like a bell, struck again and again. Then she heard something impossible in this place and time – music. She turned. Kes sat on a rock with a small musical instrument at his mouth. She couldn’t remember its name. He held it in his cupped hands and blew into it, his head tilted to one side. The music was plaintive and sweet and somehow melded with the sound of the waterfall. She wanted to sit close to him, to feel the warmth of his body against hers, to push away all that was facing them. Fool, she thought, angry with herself. This kind of guatan foolishness will get you killed.

“Let’s go back before it gets too hot,” she said.

They separated before they got to the big cave. Everyone was up and food was being shared. A liquid was being spooned into smaller bowls and handed out. “What’s that?” she asked Emrallie, who was sitting beside her.

“Slate trapped a bird. They made a broth.”

There was more of the jerky, which Slate explained was made from dried meat – mostly rodent. “It lasts long if you smoke it,” he said. “How did you dry this fruit?”

“Laid them on some flat rocks in the s-sun,” Lichen said.

“Didn’t avians steal them?”

“We had to post guards.”

“Have you ever managed to kill and eat a feral?” Rashelope said.

“Once,” Slate said. “A canine. It was an injured baby; puppy, I think they’re called. Bigger than a rodent, though. We’ve tried to hunt them but…”

“But what?” Rashelope said.

“Never been able to track them. Whenever we’ve caught something that could be feral, we’ve eaten it.”

“Did they show you where the latrines were?” Sorrel asked Emrallie.

“Yes. Didn’t you see them when you went out with Kes?”

Sorrel lowered her head, her cheeks warm. “Show me?”