Lee reached out tentatively, found Mal’s hand and squeezed it. “We’re fearless cryptid-hunters, aren’t we?” she said. She was astounded at how calm she was feeling. But her own last four years had been a kind of free fall, and now she’d landed. “You lived. We’ll live.” A sudden thought hit her, simultaneously banal and utterly urgent. “Mal, what do you do when it’s your…time of the month? I mean, there aren’t any dino chemists to get pads from, right?”

“Oh, right.” Mal nodded vigorously. “Leaves and feathers and fucking boil everything. Other urgent questions?”

“Just one—who the crap are the Nissa, anyway?”

Mal laughed. “Oh, well, that’s my name for ’em.”

“Of course it is.”

“It’s short for Neanderthal Security Agency.”

They spent the night in one of the domed huts, warmed by stones taken from a central fire, and by the bodies of a family of dinosaurs. Mal tucked in quite naturally against the feathery flank of one, and Lee spooned against her. The four hatchlings were only still for what seemed brief moments before waking and clambering about, croaking to one another. However, she was worn out and slept anyway, cushioned by a stack of furs.

Daylight pierced the woven substance of the hut like a thousand angry spears, no alarm clock needed. The space beside her was cold and empty by then, but Lee just lay there. Her body was telling her: get up, then shower, teeth, coffee, toast—but if she wanted any of these things she’d somehow have to reinvent them from first principles.

Hunger had her on her feet soon enough. The sky was clear and the dinosaurs had a big central fire going, every family contributing some fuel. There were skins stretched over racks to one side, and meat being dried. A great bustle of dinosaur-bird-people were stalking back and forth, screeching at each other—noises ranging from guttural croaks to piercing whistles and everything in between. It sounded as though each one of them was narrating an audio play featuring a hundred different characters. When they saw her, several of them called out, “Mal! Eat food Mal!” And then one of them, a big individual swaddled in a poncho by the fire, belched out “Lee!” in a reproving tone of voice.

“Food” looked like shoe leather soaked in brine, and also tasted mostly of brine. There was plenty of water on hand, and Mal explained that they boiled it all too.

“You got them to do that?” Lee asked as Mal sat down, chewing on her own strip of meat.