Lilia could not raise her head. The pain was too much. But the speaker bent over her. Long dark hair brushed her cheeks. The clawed wounds burned. Her face felt puffy.

Gian brought a warm cup to her lips; it smelled of poppy and everpine.

Lilia drank.

“You’ll heal faster with a tirajista,” Gian said. “We don’t have one at the camps, so I’m taking you to a friend, but–” She looked behind her, and Lilia saw they were in a low cavern. It smelled of damp beneath the smoke. “We’re being followed. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep us hidden.”

“How did you find me?” Lilia rasped.

Gian nodded at the karoi beak. “I followed the birds,” she said. “They circled for hours, I expect. Had to beat six of them off you.”

Gian pulled the cup away. The warmth spread from Lilia’s throat and stomach, engulfing her throbbing torso. The edges of the pain blurred, retreated. The absence of pain was shocking. Like freedom.

“Followed me,” she said.

“Yes,” Gian said. “I could ride a bear just fine with this leg, and there were plenty in the woodland who needed taming. You didn’t think I’d give you up to some Saiduan, did you?”

“Pushed me,” Lilia said.

“Did he? I hoped you’d run from him and fallen. Why was he so angry with you?”

“Wanted me to fly.”

“I expect he did.”

“Gian,” Lilia muttered. “I’m sorry.” Speaking was becoming more difficult. The world was swimming, warm and pleasant. The tide of blackness would take her again, and she was glad.

“You saved my life,” Gian said. “Nothing to be sorry about. Except going back on your promise to me.”

“Won’t go to your people,” Lilia said. She tried to move again, but the darkness was taking over. It was so nice. “I promised… my mother.”

“I keep telling you you don’t have a choice about that,” Gian said. “I wish you’d stop being so stubborn. I just hope I can get you to my people before… before we end up with what’s behind us.”

“You know the price.” That voice, again. Gian’s? No, this was another. “She lives, then?”

An old woman bent over her. Lilia stared down the length of her own body, covered over in a hemp cloth.

“Where… how long?” Lilia asked. “Gian?”

“I’m here,” Gian said. Lilia saw her outlined in the doorway. Lilia was not lying on the floor but set up on some kind of slab or table. Above her, she saw a great vent in a nest of dead boughs. The seams between them were filled with living stranglethorn and purple-blooming fire vine. It was the sort of house only a tirajista could make.

“We’re farther up the mountain,” Gian said. “This is Nirata. She’s a friend from… where I’m from.”