He dodged the fish that flew at his head, and sat back again, laughing. “Your eyes are bright as you stand in that water, with the sun setting before you,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

Stop it. “And you’re a fool.”

“Come out of there, wildcat. We’ve enough fish.”

She waded to shore. Meeting her at the edge of the water, he pulled her up onto the moss. Together they gathered up the fish and walked to the fire.

“I tire,” Katsa said. “And I feel cold and hunger.”

“All right, if you say so. But just compare yourself to other people.”

Compare herself to other people.

She sat down and dried her feet.

“Shall we fight tonight?” he asked.

She nodded, absently.

He set the fish above the flames and hummed and washed his hands, and flashed his light at her from across the fire. She sat—and thought to herself about what she found when she compared herself to other people.

She did feel cold, sometimes. But she didn’t suffer from it as other people did. And she felt hunger sometimes; but she could go long with little food, and hunger did not make her weak. She couldn’t remember ever feeling weak, exactly, for any reason. Nor could she remember ever having been ill. She thought back and was certain. She’d never even had a cough.

She stared into the fire. They were a bit unusual, these things. She could see that. And she knew there was more.

She fought and rode and ran and tumbled, but her skin rarely bruised or broke. She’d never broken a bone. And she didn’t suffer from pain the way other people did. Even when Po hit her very hard, the pain was easily manageable. If she was being honest, she’d have to admit that she didn’t quite understand what other people meant when they complained of pain.

She didn’t tire as other people did. She didn’t need much sleep. Most nights she made herself sleep, only because she knew she should.

“Po?”

He looked up from the fire.

“Can you tell yourself to go to sleep?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, can you lie down and make yourself fall asleep? Whenever you want, instantly?”

He squinted at her. “No. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Hmm.”

He studied her for a moment longer, and then seemed to decide to let her be. She barely noticed him. It had never occurred to her before that the control she had over her sleep might be unusual. And it wasn’t just that she could command herself to sleep. She could command herself to sleep for a specific amount of time. And whenever she woke, she always knew exactly what time it was. At every moment of the day, in fact, she always knew the time.

Just as she always knew exactly where she was and what direction she was facing.

“Which way is north?” she asked Po.

He looked up again and considered the light. He pointed in a direction that was loosely north, but not exactly. How did she know that with such certainty?