Her torso expanded and contracted as she took in and released breath, that was all.

“I remember my own awakening—a long time ago now, to be sure! It took the patient coaxing of a pair of cloaks—like you and me—to instruct me. Twilight was one. Strange that I can’t now recall the other. Yet there is more to your silence, for it’s not the usual way—not that there’s anything wrong with it, mind you! What brought you here? Where did you come from? How—why—did the cloak of mist reach to you? What is your name? I have a name, too, although no person has called me by name for a very long time. I was born in the Year of the Blue Rat, which is what makes me what I am. We Rats are known for being acquisitive, but Blue Rats don’t grasp after money but rather after company and conversation and secrets. Then I was dedicated to Ilu, the Herald, because I was always restless, seeking, wandering. And named by my mother in honor of the Water Mother, whose fluid nature thereby enhances those other qualities. It’s a wonder I can keep silence at all! Nothing like you. I suppose we’re well matched in that way. I talk, and you—heya!—maybe you listen and maybe you’re hearing some other voice entirely, one I can never hear. Maybe you’re tired of voices.”

The wind has a voice, light and airy, full of promise, but sometimes cruel and rough. So does the rain have a voice, and the waters of the sea lapping the shore with their constant motion, never entirely quiet, able to choke and drown those the sea swallows. Fire has a voice, first crackling and impatient and later fading into a soft burn that may spark again when least expected. The earth’s voice seems to slumber, but she, too, speaks in her slow, measured way and she may crack when none expect her temper.

Even demons and ghosts can speak, if one has the ears to hear.

She raised her head.

He smiled gently, to encourage her.

She was looking beyond him. He turned. The two horses had wandered back into view. They differed from ordinary horses in several ways, two of which were obvious now: they possessed uncanny night vision, and they had wings, at this moment folded tightly over their backs and flanks. She rose, walked past him, and went to the horses.

She didn’t approach too quickly but held back, waiting for them to invite her. They let her know they’d allow her to approach. She stroked their ears and noses. She had a treat for each, shriveled pieces of fruit he’d not seen her hide in her sleeves.

He must coax her as one would a skittish, abused, anxious horse. Her scars ran deep, certainly, but she hadn’t run away from him. Or maybe it was just that she hadn’t run away from the horses. He must be patient. He had time in plenty, after all, as long as their enemies did not catch up to them before he had won her trust and taught her the terrible truth about what she had become.