Awa shivered in a chill wind. The Master of Weeds and Wild Things had one foot in the death lands and was barely able to carry himself. No giving back the conjure bag to him, it was almost too heavy for Awa in the everyday. What then? Abandon Djola and Bal to witch-woman Kyrie? One breath, Awa was full of bravado, the next full of dread. She stumbled over nothing. “Zst!” A poor griot, Awa didn’t know what story to tell on her future.

“Too many people are good and weak. Hezram exploits this,” Bal said and hauled Djola into the cave, a tunnel actually, through the mountain.

Soot scampered behind them, drooling and wagging his tail. Happy! Awa dragged into the gloom. Her breath fogged in the tunnel’s icy air and her skin prickled. Cold conjure. Translucent ground and walls looked onto darkness flecked with stars, like the light bridge. The sun shone in blue sky at both ends. Fannie gnashed her teeth and shook her mane. Warhorses hated caves and tunnels, no matter how miraculous.

“Fannie, my heart, the tunnel’s shorter than it looks.” Curiosity shifted Awa’s mood. She had been dead to the world when Djola conjured a corridor as they escaped Holy City. “This passageway is more than a trick on the eye,” she shouted to Kyrie. “You’ve folded space and bent time and light. Is Samina’s light bridge a wise-woman corridor connecting Smokeland regions?” Kyrie mumble-grumbled. Awa took that as a yes.

“When we were Sprites”—Bal leaned into Djola, bright and cheery again—“Awa could never help thinking a knotted thing apart.”

“Those days are gone.” Awa’s insides roiled. She was ravenous. Regular feasting made hunger hard to ignore. Would she ever feel full?

Soot nosed Awa’s crotch, catching her distress. He licked her fingers.

“Can you walk faster, Awa?” Kyrie yelled over a shoulder and picked up speed.

“I’ll try.” Each step sent shivers of pain through Awa’s bad leg. Nothing else throbbed or oozed. Djola was a good healer. She thanked Vandana for that.

Bal and Kyrie lifted him over uneven ground and carried him up an incline. They went faster than Awa, even lugging his dead weight. She stumbled back into Fannie, whose ears stood erect. The warhorse was on alert for ambush. Crows circled above, mocking clumsy people. The cheeky piebald one landed on Awa’s shoulder, plucked a glittery thread from the cloud-silk head wrap, and flew on.

“Djola,” Awa said, “your annoying birds keep us company no matter where we go.”

“Not my crows,” Djola replied. “Yours.”

Awa scoffed. “Of course they’re yours.”

“They belong to themselves,” Bal sang.

“Awa’s friends then,” Djola said, “following her all the way from Holy City.” He sounded better, but dragged his foot and left a trail of slime.