“It’s worse in our time. I’m sure in their time your mothers and fathers thought the milk of our land would be enough to sustain them forever. Now they know, it is never enough.”

Evie doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Don’t pay ’er too much mind,” Lariat warns. “The B’ors like their stories about the past, and only half of ’em are made-up.”

“And the other half?” Evie asks.

Lariat snorts into his mustache. “Lies.”

She’s certain believing that is soothing to most Crachians, even a man like Lariat, but Evie has doubts.

“Reminiscing won’t ford this muck, nor change it back to solid ground,” Mother Manai reminds them all.

Evie nods. “Mother’s right!” she announces to the whole band. “We’ll have to go around. There’s no other choice. So let’s get moving.”

The subject is left there, but being forced to skirt the edge of the rolling abyss is a constant reminder to Evie of the haunting words they’ve exchanged.

The Savages hike along the hillcrest for what must be three miles. Evie spends most of that trek worrying after Brio, for whom every step seems to cause more and more pain. He refuses to give his increasing agony voice, however. Brio simply hobbles along in silence with sweat pouring from his brow in thicker sheets than any of them. Whenever Evie offers him support he refuses.

“That leg isn’t getting any better,” she finally says.

It’s not a question.

“To be fair,” he manages through steadily grinding teeth, “I haven’t exactly had a chance to rest it.”

“It’s getting worse,” Evie states flatly. “You’re just learning to ignore it.”

“And a harder lesson I cannot recall.”

It’s Brio making an attempt at his usual humor in the face of dire straits, but it feels even more forced than it did before the camp massacre.

“I’m sorry, Brio. I’m sorry I didn’t find you sooner.”

“That you found me at all is more grace than I expected in what remained of my increasingly shortened life. Never apologize for that.”

“But that leg—”

“There’s nothing to be done about it now. We have to keep moving, and I intend to do so until I can’t anymore. Hopefully it will be enough to take us all somewhere useful without you having to carry me.”

There’s little else to be said about the matter that will make any difference.

It’s another mile before the tar pit gives way once more to solid ground. An incline of gritty dust and yellow blades that are more thorn than grass slopes several hundred yards into a broad, open valley. Beyond that valley a line of dead trees is visible in the distance.

“What’re the chances of coming across a town out there?” Evie asks Mother Manai.