She walked into the main room, where everyone sat around a blazing fire. As tempting as it was to stamp through with a grunted “Going out,” she couldn’t quite manage it—too much time spent with her father and sister. She murmured vaguely polite greetings as she passed. When she reached the front room, her father appeared, closing the door behind him.

“I’m going out,” she said.

“To wait for the flare.”

She shrugged and pulled on a boot.

“She’s fine, Moria. The flare will come. It always does.”

She’d caught him at the fence at midday, watching for the signal. He’d pretended otherwise, of course—just out for a stroll. That’s the excuse she used now, which only made him sigh.

She leaned over and hugged him. It was a slightly awkward hug—she wasn’t nearly as good at it as Ashyn—but he never seemed to notice, embracing her back and whispering, “Stay on the ground, all right? Please.”

She nodded and slipped into the night with Daigo.

Moria did walk on the ground—all the way to the end of their street. But the road was crowded. She had to pass at least two people and a cart. So when she reached the village wall, she climbed onto it and Daigo hopped up beside her.

True, she had fallen before—once from the wall, once from the roof of the village hall. She’d broken an ankle the first time, a wrist the second. But she regretted neither because they had been lessons. Her father didn’t see it that way, and he swore his heart would fail him when he saw her running atop the high wall.

She didn’t run today. There was no need. The flare wouldn’t come until the moon reached its zenith. So she strolled along the fence top, lifting a hand each time a villager called a greeting. They never worried—she was the Keeper, as sure-footed as her wildcat.

“Off to watch for the flare?” The chicken-keeper’s wife peered from her window. “You needn’t fret, child. The flare will come.”

“I know.”

Before Moria could move on, the woman came out, apron drawn up. “I heard you thrashed the miller’s boy for tormenting the little ones.”

Moria shrugged. “He needed a thrashing; I needed the exercise.”

The woman smiled and held up a wineskin. “Chicken soup. To keep you warm while you wait.” She plucked two eggs from her apron and passed them up. “I didn’t forget you, Daigo.”

The wildcat chuffed. Moria thanked her and continued on.

Moria paced alongside the first tower. By now even Daigo had grown weary and was lying down, paws tucked in, feigning boredom. Yet at every flicker, he looked to the sky. The flare was late. And no one seemed to notice except her.

“It’s warmer up here,” the guard called from the tower. “I have furs.”