Perry glanced over his shoulder at her. “We’re going to see a friend. His name is Marron. He’s that way.” He pointed to Mount Arrow. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” she said, frustrated. “What is snow like?”

That nearly stopped him in his tracks. How could a person know about snow without knowing it was pure and silent and whiter than bone? Without knowing how the chill of it stung your skin? “It’s cold.”

“What about roses? Do they really smell so great?”

“See many roses around here?” He knew better than to give a true answer. From what he could tell, she’d never heard about Scires in her stories. Perry wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t trust her. Knew she wasn’t planning to help him. Whatever double-crossing she meant to do, he’d figure it out.

“Do the clouds ever clear?” she asked.

“Completely? No. Never.”

“What about the Aether? Does that ever go away?”

“Never, Mole. The Aether never leaves.”

She looked up. “A world of nevers under a never sky.”

She fit in well then, he thought. A girl who never shut up.

Her questions continued through the day. She asked if dragonflies made a sound when they flew and if rainbows were myths. When he stopped answering, she turned to speaking to herself as though it were a natural thing. She talked about the warm color of the hills against the blue cast of the Aether. When the wind kicked up, she said the sound reminded her of turbines. She stared at rocks, wondering at the minerals that made them, even pocketing a few. She’d fallen into a deep silence once, when the sun appeared, and it was then he’d wondered most what she was thinking.

Perry couldn’t figure out how a person could be grieving and still manage to talk so much. He ignored her as best he could. He kept an eye on the Aether, relieved to see that it moved in pale drifts above. They’d leave the Tides’ land soon so he paid close attention to the scents carrying on the wind. He knew they’d meet with some form of danger eventually. Traveling outside tribe territories guaranteed it. Hard enough to survive alone in the borderlands. Perry wondered how he’d manage it with a Mole.

Late in the afternoon, he found a sheltered valley to lay camp. Night was falling by the time he got the fire going. The Dweller sat on an overturned tree examining the soles of her feet. What healthy skin she’d had left that morning had blistered.

Perry found the salve he’d taken from the cave and brought it to her. She unscrewed the small jar, her black hair spilling forward as she peered at it. Perry frowned. What was she doing? Was her eyepiece some sort of magnifying glass?