She'd brought a small bark satchel from the teepee; now she arranged it over her shoulder and scurried over the rough track to Hafen's Hill. From the summit she could see the Atad river, a glistening track to the south; the Bridge looked like an indestructible toy, one of the few of the old structures not yet swallowed by the ice. Smoke blurred the scene. She wondered if that was a good sign.

She soon forgot the distant battle as she got to work. She opened her satchel and drew out a small lamp, a gourd filled with alcohol fermented from cow-tree fruit. She cut a length of wick with the big stone knife her grandfather had made for her. She held a flint to the wick; it curled and popped as black smoke seeped into the crisp air. Now she opened out a small bag, a rough globe. She held its narrow neck over the flame, and soon her fingers were coated with lamp-black--

-- and the simple balloon filled up and lurched a few feet into the air. Then it turned belly-up and flopped to the ground. Allel bared her teeth at the Shell as if she owned it already; her heart beat as had that lost bird's. Now then, a little more weight around the mouth...

A sandal stamped down, crushing the balloon. The bark of the sandal was crusted with blood and dust.

"Get up." Boyd spat the words; blood leaked from a new wound over her eyes.

Allel stood, furious. Her anger collided with her mother's contempt. Save for the scars of battle, the years had been easy on Boyd. Mother and daughter faced each other like twins, images in a dark mirror.

"Our attack on the Bridge failed," Boyd ground out. "Those bastards holding it want to keep the whole bloody south to themselves. Good people died. And you -- you won't even help the old folk with their chores. What do you think you're doing?"

Allel picked up the sputtering lamp. "I doubt if you'd understand," she said haughtily.

Boyd slapped the lamp from her hands. It smashed against a rock; alcohol pooled and puffed into flame. "You waste your time on rubbish. Don't dare to speak to me like that."

Allel bit back her rage. "I fill the bag with smoke. It flies. Build one big enough and I could fly with it--"

"More rubbish." Boyd hawked and spat out a ball of bloodstained phlegm; it sizzled in the alcohol fire. "If it's ever left up to you, we'll all die of rubbish." She grabbed a handful of Allel's tunic; her breath was sour. "Or I'll kill you first. And that's not rubbish." She strode off down the Hill's broken flank. "Come on. You'll be grown soon. It's time I put a stop to your questions."

Allel didn't move. "Where are we going?"

"North. To the place where our people once lived, before the cold drove them out. North to the City."