“Not a girl.” Han yanked off his boots and dumped the water out of them. At least some of the mud had washed off. “We ran into some charmcasters in Burnt Tree Meadow. They spooked the deer, and we got into an argument. When I heard you following us, I thought you were one of them.”

She blinked at him. “Charmcasters,” she said. “What would charmcasters be doing up here? And how do I look like one, anyway?”

“Well. You don’t,” Han said. “My mistake.” He looked up, and their eyes met, and he swallowed hard. Bird’s cheeks colored a deep rose, and she turned to Dancer.

“What words did you have to say to a jinxflinger, cousin?” she asked.

“None,” Dancer said, shooting a warning look at Han.

“We would’ve each taken a deer if not for them,” Han felt compelled to say, then was immediately sorry when Bird looked at him and raised her eyebrows. Bird always said that a deer in the smokehouse was worth a whole herd in the woods.

“So what happened?” Bird asked, leaning forward. “Was something burning? I smelled smoke.”

Han and Dancer looked at each other, each waiting for the other to speak. “They set fire to Hanalea,” Han said finally. “The charmcasters.”

“So you confronted them?” Bird said, leaning forward, looking from one to the other. “And then what?”

“Nothing happened. They left,” Dancer said.

“Fine,” Bird said, angry again. “Don’t tell me anything. I don’t care anyway. But you’d better tell Willo about it, at least. They shouldn’t be in the Spirits at all, let alone setting fires.”

Han shivered. The sun had gone and he was covered in gooseflesh. In past days he’d have stripped off and laid his wet clothes out to dry. He glanced over at Bird. Not anymore.

“Let’s go on to Marisa Pines,” Dancer said, as if he could read Han’s mind. “They’ll have a fire going.”

The sky had clouded over, and a chill wind funneled between the peaks, but the brisk six-mile walk kept Han’s blood moving. Bird’s lips were blue, and Han thought of putting an arm around her, to warm her, but it would have been awkward on the narrow rocky trail. Plus she might only snap at him again.

The dogs greeted them when they were still a half mile from Marisa Pines. It was a motley pack—rugged, long-haired sheepdogs, wolf mixes, and spotted flatland hounds bought at market. Next came the children, from solemn round-faced toddlers to long-legged ten-year-olds, alerted by the dogs.

Most had straight, dark hair, brown eyes, and coppery skin, though some had blue or green eyes, like Dancer, or curly hair, like Bird. There had been considerable mixing of Valefolk and clan over the years. And Valefolk with the blue-eyed, fairhaired wizard invaders from the Northern Isles.