“Oh guata,” Emrallie said. “Follow me.” She pushed her way into a clump of bushes which hid the beginnings of a rocky path. She pointed. “Down there. We’re lucky it’s so steep. Stops the ferals from using it. Except for the avians. I’m going to look for khaya leaves. I’ll be back.”

Sorrel was relieved she was gone. She didn’t want to be naked in front of Emrallie. Maybe getting her period meant she was fertile. Since the Domin Decree of 2076, females with periods had to report to the Domins and mate by lottery with a male of the Domin force. If such a female got pregnant, she was taken away by the Domins. No one knew what happened to those women after they had given birth, or to the babies.

Even outside Domin control, she wasn’t sure she wanted to risk childbirth. Ever. She laughed a little at herself. Having a baby still needed a male.

She climbed down to the water as quickly as she could, but the path was treacherous, and she felt clumsy and slow. The blood washed out more easily than she’d anticipated and when she struggled into her pants, the wet clothes were heavy and soothing on her limbs. She washed her face and arms and filled her algaskin, drinking all it held, and filling it again. She climbed up the path to a flat rock, where she sat gazing at the pool below. Unlimited fresh water. She wished she could swim, like her mother. It was getting dark. Something flew out of the bushes and she ducked.

“A bat,” Emrallie said, returning with a handful of soft brown leaves. “They survived in the mountains. Here. Put these in your pants. Split them in half. Keep the rest for later.” She seemed to sense Sorrel wanted her to leave and she ran without hesitation down the steep path to the cenote. As she watched, Emrallie removed her hat and boots, then drenched herself with a light brown container, over and over. The filmy clothes clung to her long, smooth limbs and wide, sloping shoulders. She turned her squarish face to the evening sky and stood like that for a moment. Then she squeezed water out of her hair and replaced her boots, balancing easily on one leg, then the other, at the edge of the cenote.

“Right,” she said, looking up at Sorrel. “Let’s get your mother.”

They stood under the culvert in the dark. “Bibi?” called Sorrel. Let her be alive, she whispered to herself.

“Oh, for earth’s sake. Who could hear that? LOWLAND WOMAN! Come out if you’re in there! Your daughter is here,” Emrallie bawled. There was no reply.

“Are you going to look? Never mind. I’ll do it.” Emrallie pulled herself up and wriggled inside the culvert. Sorrel heard scraping sounds and then the Tribal’s voice, but couldn’t make out her words.