White Feather regarded her pensively, perhaps with distrust. Farther away, Falcon Mask and Buzzard Mask crouched on their haunches, watching her and then the river.

“How long did I sleep? Will it soon be nightfall?”

“Nightfall, indeed,” agreed Eldest Uncle. “Nightfall of a new day. You slept through yesterday afternoon, an entire night, and most of this day.”

She whistled, feeling as if she’d been punched in the stomach. “I’m still tired! Hungry and thirsty, too.”

“Hunger is a pain we all share,” said White Feather tartly. “But before I left the council hall, I heard a half dozen reports that the old fields are already sending up shoots. If we can survive the winter with what stores remain to us, we may hope for a plentiful harvest. Still. I would not see you fall into Cat Mask’s hands because of weakness.”

She offered Liath a square of dried berries and grains, and although it was tough to chew, it was edible and filling. Liath took her time as she ate, knowing how little food the Ashioi had. At least there was no shortage of water. The vegetation seemed to be growing unnaturally quickly, fertilized by the fading influence of the aether, as though all this potential had lain dormant for years, awaiting the flood. She nibbled. She knew she ought to save half for later, but she was so hungry she finished it all.

Like White Feather, Eldest Uncle looked away while she ate, to give her privacy or to restrain his own feelings of hunger.

“What now?” she asked him, getting his attention. ‘Am I in danger from Cat Mask? Will he come hunting me?”

“Only if he discovers you are here,” said White Feather in her blunt way. “He fears an invasion of humankind.”

Liath laughed bitterly. “Have you walked the land beyond the white path, north of here? Nothing lives there, nor can any living creature cross it.”

“You crossed it.”

“I created it.”

White Feather touched the obsidian knife tucked into a sheath at her hip. “What do you mean?”

“I am born half of fire. The one you call Feather Cloak glimpsed the heart within me. That is why they called me ‘Bright One.’ ” She wiped sweat from her brow. Although cloudy, it was hot. Even the breeze made her uncomfortable.

Eldest Uncle looked more at ease than she had ever seen him. He looked younger, an old man restored to vitality by his return to the world where he had been born. It was as if the waters flooded him as well, as if he were greening like the plants.

“Look!” cried Falcon Mask. She leaped to her feet. Far above, a pair of buzzards soared. She pushed her mask up to get a better look; she was crying, silently, with joy.

“A good omen,” agreed Eldest Uncle. “You are not the only one who can cross. Others will come.”

“Our enemies,” said White Feather. “How is that a good omen?”

“Feather Cloak has birthed twin girls. What more powerful omen could there be?”