“Here.” Moving deftly and quietly, Dani made his way to the mouth of the cave. There, in a shallow depression to one side, was a cache of moss he had gathered. It had sustained them during the past three days. Grasping a smooth stone, he ground the spongy moss into a damp paste. Scooping up a handful, he returned to squat beside his uncle. With gentle care, he spread the paste on the elder Yarru’s parched lips. “Try to eat.”

Uncle Thulu’s mouth worked with difficulty, his sluggish tongue taking in the moss paste. Blinking back tears, Dani spread another fingerful on his lips. There was moisture in it, not much, but enough to live on. It was the only thing he had been able to find within half a day’s journey of their hiding place. And if he had not seen a single lost elk grazing on it, he might never have thought to try the moss. It was all that had kept his uncle alive.

And barely, at that.

“Enough.” Uncle Thulu grasped Dani’s wrist with urgent strength and drew in a deep, rattling breath. “Dani, listen to me.”

“Yes, Uncle.” His chest ached with fear and love.

“They’re starting over. That’s why they’re moving in a hurry. They’re going back to pick up our trail from the beginning. And if they’ve added to their numbers, they’re not going to miss us this time.” Thulu’s eyes were overbright in his wasted face. “Dani, you have to go. Now.”

“I won’t.” He refused to hear what Thulu was saying. “Not without you.”

His uncle said it anyway. “I’m dying, Dani.”

“What if we went back?” The thought struck him like an offer of salvation. “We could wait for them to pass, then head south! They wouldn’t hunt for us once we passed out of Fjel territory, and the Staccians … well, they’re just Men, we can hide from Men, Uncle! And get you home, where—”

“Dani.” Uncle Thulu’s grip tightened on his wrist. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said gently. “Do you understand? This is where the journey ends for me. I’m sorry, lad. You’ve got to go on without me.”