“We shouldn’t dawdle,” Lao Bingyi said with a stern look as though they had argued. “Another night on the road, and then we should be home to Betony Docks.”

Chih nibbled their rice and dried pork, grateful that no one remembered they were meant to be a vegetarian if they could manage it. It was good, settling in their stomach after a night of restless sleep and a morning of new stories.

Soon enough, Sang and Wei Jintai rose as well to claim their food, and though no one was as well rested as they might have been, they broke camp quickly. Sang and Wei Jintai took the buckets and the yoke back to the water, and Chih went to say one more prayer over the body of the man they had buried the day before.

They repeated the prayer for the Lady of the Thousand Hands, and then they hesitated.

“I’m sorry this is the best I could do,” Chih said at last. “You’ll be remembered, and if we can find your people, we will tell them about you. Just. I’m sorry.”

They had been given to Singing Hills at the age of two. They didn’t remember a time when they hadn’t been asked to see and to remember, to recite back with accuracy and to ask for the truth in whatever form it came in. Along with the food they ate, they took in the knowledge of how important their work was. This was perhaps one of the few times they had ever thought about how little it all might mean.

Chih turned and nearly shrieked in surprise at Lao Bingyi, who stood watching them nearby.

“You did the best you could,” she said practically. “He’s safe in the ground, not swinging like they left him.”

“It doesn’t look very safe to me,” Chih said, glancing down at the stones, and to their surprise, Lao Bingyi gave them a one-armed hug, guiding them firmly away from the grave.

“Safer than we are,” she said. “Come on. We’re wasting the daylight.”

When the campsite was put to rights, they set off down the road again, a grimmer group than they had been before. Almost Brilliant alternated between fluttering from branch to branch and resting for short intervals on Chih’s shoulder, but she was too restless to stay long.

The road took a slant downwards, and the ground softened under Chih’s feet. They were descending into a valley, and the light dimmed around them, giving the trees long and menacing shadows. When it came time for lunch, by tacit agreement, they ate walking, and Almost Brilliant came to perch on the back of Chih’s pack, chirruping anxiously.

“It’s too quiet,” she said. “The birds fled this place. I wish I knew what they had seen.”

“You could talk to them?” asked Sang curiously, and Almost Brilliant made an irritated sound.