Emrallie led them farther away from the clearing with the stone circle as night closed in. Sorrel heard the calls and rustles of night creatures and had no way of knowing whether they helped or harmed humans. Mosquitoes whined around her ears and she waved them away, wondering about fevers. Bats carried viruses and rodents had ticks. Despite these dangers, the night air was almost cool on her skin and a sense of wellbeing flooded her body.

Emrallie led them to a hut like all the others, which surprised Sorrel, who thought surely the Zorah would have the biggest shelter. A wiry woman with straight, dark hair sat on a stool in front of the entrance beside the PlAK. There was a fat candle under a glass dome beside her – Sorrel had seen those in Bana. Her face was half in shadow, but she had lines in her forehead and looked older than thirty-five.

The woman stood when they approached, and Sorrel felt awkward – how should she greet the leader of the Tribals?

“I hear you’re Lowlanders,” the woman said. “I won’t say welcome yet. My name is Caroni and I’ll hear your story.” There were two other stools nearby, which looked like they were the cut trunks of trees.

“Hello,” Sorrel began, meeting the Zorah’s eyes. “I’m Sorrel. From Bana. This is my mother, Bibi and –”

“Wait. In good time. I’m sure you’re hungry. Let’s eat first and then we’ll talk. Come. Emrallie, you can leave us.”

Caroni led the Lowlanders behind the hut, where there was a low, round stove, full of glowing, ashy wood. She pulled out something wrapped in broad, serrated leaves and put it on a large, flattish rock. “River fish,” Caroni said, opening the steaming packet. “Cross between a tilapia and a catfish. They hybridized sometime way back. See the big eyes? They can survive without much light in underground water. Whoa, wait. Be careful not to burn your fingers. I’d let it cool a little.”

There was a black orb on the top of the stove. “Breadfruit,” Caroni said. “We found an old tree high up. Have you ever eaten it?” She spoke to Sorrel, ignoring Bibi.

Sorrel shook her head. She had read about breadfruit in the History module but never seen the tree or the fruit. The orb looked industrial rather than edible, but it smelled wonderful. Her mouth filled with saliva. She didn’t want to admit that she had rarely eaten fish and had never heard of tilapia or catfish. She half-wondered if a catfish was some form of feral, made by a feline and a piscine, but surely lungs could not become gills, or vice versa. No, that was stupid.