Lulah needs her distraction, he thought. This strange downfall would not suffice—this far north, squirm-storms only ever lasted a few beats. If he left it much longer, she would assume that he had been caught, and he suddenly had the image of her walking into Nomi's camp. Once that happened, he doubted she would be able to leave again.

As he sat up and slipped off his backpack, the storm turned to simple rain once more.

It would have to be here.

Ramus had brought several souvenirs from the Widow with him, and one of them was a handful of screeching-lizard eggs. These creatures were limited exclusively to one valley in the Widow's mountains, but their reproductive technique was so unusual that Ramus had felt compelled to bring some home. Not with any intention of hatching them, or selling them, or even presenting them to the Guild for its museum. It had been pure curiosity. These were the only animals Ramus knew of that were hatched by fire.

The rain had eased, for which he was glad, and he found it easy to dig down through the leaves to a level of drier soil. He worked by touch, making a nest from an old paper map and dried kindling from his bag, and placing the eggs on top.

He wished the Widow had told him more about these screeching lizards. She had said that they lived mainly in caves and crevasses, their eggs exuded a sticky fuel when heated, they were hatched by fire and they made a terrible sound once born into the world. Being woken from peace into pain did that, she'd said. But Ramus had no idea how long their hatching took, nor whether the tiny lizards would even still be alive. These eggs were old.

I could just shout, he thought. Scream and crash around in the woods. But that would give him no time to escape. And he had to accept that Lulah had been right about his eyesight.

Shielding the nest from the rain with his body, he used his flints to throw sparks, and it did not take long for the old paper to catch on fire. The kindling caught next, then came a shower of crackling sparks as the eggs began venting their own fuel.

Ramus ran. Hands held out before him, he darted between the trees, tripping several times before he burst back out into the open. South a little way, then east again, always aware of the vague glow of the campfire through the trees to his left. Is this right? he thought, and cursed his weakness. Why have doubts when the deed was done? He may well be a man of words and not action, but that had to change.