“How do I lay hold on a path?” asked Noxon. “My paths never looked like people or animals—but they were, when time slowed down. When Umbo sped up my brain processes so the world around me seemed to slow down. Now the facemask does that for me.”

“Well, it can’t do it for me,” said Param. “And I don’t want a facemask.”

“Yes you do,” said Noxon. “You cry yourself to sleep because nobody ever got you one.”

“It certainly made you prettier.”

“Didn’t you notice how my facemask is so much prettier than Rigg’s?”

“Oh, of course you say that now that he’s off on his expedition, so nobody can actually compare.”

During this banter, Noxon had picked a nearby path—without slowing it down to see who it was. It was at least a century old, but that made it far newer than the few other paths in the vicinity. The Larfolders didn’t feel at home in the woods, so few of their paths ever came here.

“So is there any noise here?”

“There’s always some noise,” said Param.

“But I mean, are there any particular noises?”

“A few. Nothing very loud.”

“Is there one that’s louder than any of the others?”

“Yes,” she said instantly. “But it’s not loud loud.”

“Do you know where it’s coming from?”

Param thought. “Well, yes. I think I always know. That’s how I can avoid them when I just want some peace. It’s over this way.”

But she closed her eyes when she said this, and her eyes were still closed when she pointed.

She pointed at that newest path.

“Let me see if I can hear it too,” said Noxon. “Let’s go stand right in the middle of this particular tune.” He led her to the path.

“You’re seeing a path and you think they’re the same.”

“No, I’m positive they’re not the same at all,” said Noxon, “so I’m going to get you to confirm that by telling me we’re not standing in the middle of it right now.”

“Well we are,” said Param. And then she began to gasp. For a moment he thought she was feeling faint. And then he realized she was laughing. No, crying.

“It is not possible,” she finally said.

“Let’s go to one of those fainter tunes,” said Noxon.

“They’re not really musical.”

“And my paths aren’t really colorful. But I call the differences among them colors. And you called them tunes, didn’t you?”

“That’s how I think of them. And yes, we’re standing in another of them now.”

“It’s a very old path,” said Noxon. “But you hear it.”

“It’s not loud, but yes.”

“I think it’s safe to say that you and I are both pathfinders.”