"The quthli say that they wish to stay here," Coir said. "There is plentiful game, and the snows cover everything a few miles to the west. They do not wish to go further that way."

Night after night, the horrid cries of the wild beasts interrupted their sleep, and rather than try to ward these creatures away, the quthli actually attempted to lure them closer. They made sport of throwing spears at any that showed themselves in the clearing. They built all sorts of traps—deadfalls, pits, sharpened stakes, hanging and swinging contraptions—near the edge of camp, leaving out rotting meat as bait. Nearly every night they caught something. They ate the organs with raucous celebration, and the fires burned all day, smoking the flesh as the females worked to smear brains upon hides and chew the rawhide until it softened before smoking the pelts above damp wood.

Felit remained quiet for the most part, hardly emerging from the little hut. At some point during the first night, she had swallowed her pride and climbed inside. She was not dressed for the cold any more than Jareen. To make matters worse, it turned out that she was newly mated when she became afflicted with the Malady, having only lived with her vien for less than three months. She had recovered with only a little residual pigmentation, but her mood had not improved. Jareen wondered if she would try to regain the enclaves alone. The attempt would be almost certain death.

"I do not know where we would go, anyway," Jareen said. She stood wrapped in her own arms, shivering.

"Let them make you a coat," Coir said. "You are miserable."

"I will not wear the flesh of animals." She sniffled. Her upper lip was raw from the draining snot. Smoke filled the clearing, irritating her eyes and nose every moment of day and night, yet she had succumbed to the attraction of the fire's heat, accepting the irritation for the sake of warmth. They had remained in the camp for three weeks, and the quth gave every appearance of staying put, even digging their huts down into the ground and stretching skins and peeled bark across the roofs.

They looked happy. She wasn't sure if she was imagining it or if she had merely spent enough time among the quthli to recognize their animal bearing and expressions. She wiped dripping snot from her face again, wishing she could go anywhere far from the fires and somehow remain warm.

"They say the cold is disrupting the beasts, making them careless," Coir said, leaning forward on his cane. He smirked. "Or rather, making them 'not-cunning.'" Jareen could smell the human. Their only bathing came from cold rain, and no one was willing to strip in the clearing or risk solitude in the forest.

"How long do you think Vireel will keep them here?" she asked.

"Vireel is not keeping them here. They know nothing of her since her last command to keep us safe," Coir answered. "They say she is not here. I do not think they are under her influence, now."

"Then why do they still protect us?"

"It isn't for your winning charms," Coir said with a grin.

She felt the urge to yank on his wispy beard.

"And now what? Do you want me to live like a quth for the rest of my life?"

She could not even communicate with them herself. She'd needed Coir to ask them to gather wild fruits from the jungle, and half of what they brought back was unpalatable or possibly poisonous. The rest tasted of the Mingling. She was so sick of depending on others.

"I did not choose to defy the ancients of the enclave, you did. I only made it possible for you to escape."

And she had followed.

Jareen had grown so used to the constant noises of the quthli that she barely perceived the calls coming from the jungle to the east. She did notice Coir raise his head and squint. He turned to look as the calls continued, and she noticed that the quthli in the camp—mostly the females who remained while the males hunted—had also hushed.

"What is it?" she asked.

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"Vien are coming."

Jareen sighed. She had expected that the enclave might seek to take her back and force her to divulge some secret about the Malady. She tried to believe she would never tell the the truth, but she also feared what they might do to her. To be honest, she was already so tired of living in squalor that she partly hoped they came for her, so long as they offered her warmth, a bath, wine, and fresh clothes, or maybe even just one of those things.

"They come along the path," Coir said. "There are seventeen of them."

"That is an unusual number," Jareen said, frowning. Certainly they could not overcome the quthli with so few.

Armed quthli males burst into the camp from the west, summoned by the continued calls. They did not pause but rushed to the opening of the eastern path, sheltering in the trees to either side.

"Come. We will be needed," Coir said, following.

When the first of the vien came into view on the path, Jareen gaped. In the lead were two vien with arrows nocked on bows, but behind them were. . . what where there names? The vienu and her little son. . .

"Liethni," Coir said.

That was it. Liethni and Telu. Then she recognized Oreann in the group as well. Behind them followed three that looked ill of complexion, though they wore long garments that hid their skin.

"Oh," she said.

To either side of the path, the quthli looked ready to pounce, still hidden from view.

"Tell them it's alright," she told Coir. As Coir spoke to the quthli, Jareen stepped into view and called out to the approaching Vien.

"Put away your weapons!"

"Daughter of Vah!" Liethni cried.

Coir continued to speak back and forth with the quthli. It was clear they did not want to let the Vien into the clearing, but when Liethni and Oreann rushed up to Jareen, followed by other vien and vienu, it was clear this was no war party. The quthli stood up from their crouches, watching quietly.

Someone shouted behind them, making Jareen jump nearly as much as the quthli. Felit rushed past her. One of the newcome vien met her, and the two embraced. Felit broke into sobs.

"Daughter of Vah," Liethni said, grasping Jareen's hands and ignoring the nearby display. The vienu then appeared to catch herself, let go Jareen's hands, and lowered her head in a display of respect. "I am so glad we found you."

"Why have you come?" Jareen asked. "Are all these sick?"

"Not all. They expelled us. Our trees have come along, and a few afflicted who were to be put out of the enclave. They hope for the blessing of Vah as well."

"How did you find us?" Coir asked. Liethni actually bowed her head to him as well. Jareen was startled. She had never seen a Vien show such respect to a human before.

"Servant of Vah," she said. "Reports about your camp spread through the quthli and thence to us. We begged the ancients to bring you back, rather than to put out the afflicted."

"They would not?"

"They told us to seek Vah'tane with you, if we wished, but to leave the enclave."

At that moment, rain started to fall, so cold that even the quthli dispersed for shelter. Jareen and Coir led the newcomers to a broad lean-to where groups of quthli females worked when it rained. It was close to the irritating fires, but at least it was dry beneath.

There, Coir and Jareen tried to learn more of the story. As it turned out, Oreann and Liethni's mates and a few of their younger children made up seven of the party. Four of the newcomers were afflicted. Two others were mates of the afflicted, and Jareen did not quite understand the motivation of the remaining four. Surely idle curiosity would not draw someone to the Mingling. She saw the marks of the Change on two of them. Sorcerers, surely. That might account for their safe passage in the Mingling, but she also distrusted the sight of them.

Two of the stricken were more advanced in condition than either Telu or Oreann when she had treated them, and she was surprised they even accomplished the journey. With expressions of honor, many bowings of heads and pressing of hands to chests, the afflicted beseeched Jareen to ask for the blessing of Vah on their behalf.

"I will ask," she muttered in response, her mind awhirl as she tried to figure out how she would manage it, or if it would succeed with more progressed conditions.

"I made this for you in thanks, Daughter of Vah. We heard that the Nethec has cursed the western Mingling with cold." Liethni had procured a long grey robe from some satchel, and now she presented it to Jareen, draped over both her forearms. It was clear that the newcomers had expected foul weather, for they wore heavy cloaks and hoods and layers of clothing beneath. When Jareen picked up the robe, she could feel the weight of its thick cloth. Rubbing it between her fingers, she could tell it was made with a triple layer of heavy linen.

"Thank you," she said, sincerely. She did not wait but pulled it on overtop her dirty robe. Clearly Liethni was skilled; it fit Jareen exactly. She pulled up the grey hood, sorry only that she could not bathe and put on something clean beneath it.

"Thank you," she said again. "I can't believe you came all this way." Even as she said it, she realized it was foolish—at least when it came to the afflicted. A small chance was better than none. About the others, she was not so sure.

"There may be more," Liethni replied. "The rumor of Vah's blessing has already spread."

Jareen forced a smile, though she did not feel it. There may be more who decide to come to this horrid place? Even if they survived the journey and she could cure them, then what?

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