Early in the morning Vah decided he wanted to see the sea again. The craving for the sea had grown in him for weeks, but partly he just wanted to just get away from the others. Though he was sad to leave the shelter of the trees behind, he stepped again into the deserted terrain beyond their copse of safety, bracing against the wind. He wanted to think freely, and a long walk would help, as would the sea. There was flesh on his bones again, and he had woven himself layers of clothing by twisting cordage from plant fibers and then weaving the cords together. Both the flesh and the clothes were necessary to brace against the cold wind. With them, he could manage the three-day trek to the nearest inlet of the sea. There he could harvest seaweed, enough to have strength to return.

Their old forest had stretched along the coast, where the waters were blue and rocky, and coconuts lay half-buried in sand, left to rot because of their plenty. He had spent many evenings perched in the branches of some tree, drinking the milk of nuts and watching lightning far out over the waves. He had always enjoyed solitude, unlike Findel and Isecan. Findel always sought company and Isecan was always with Findel, inseparable. Their people roamed through the forests, grazing on the bounteous fruits of the canopy, or climbing down to forage herbs and roots. Wild creatures of the forest often followed them, hoping to eat from their gentle hands or feed on fruits shaken down to the forest floor by Vien climbers. They had sung as they climbed, sung beneath stars and moon and sun, amidst the boughs of the beloved trees.

Vah had been fortunate. He had no wife or children to lose when the quth attacked. Not only that, but both of his brothers had survived the attack. But now Findel alone remained, and Vah felt that he was losing him, somehow, too.

Vah had walked a few miles, head down against the wind, when he heard thudding behind him, like cobbles falling on turf. He turned and screamed. A beast charged him, its hide reflecting the sunrise, great spiraled horns projecting from its head, its four legs beating the ground. It had two heads, one in the front like a wild beast, and one behind like his brother's.

It was upon him before he could think to fall or flee. An arm reached down and pulled him upward. Vah screamed and struck blindly, but then he heard his brother's voice.

"Peace, Vah! Peace!"

"Isecan?"

"It is I."

Vah was lying across his brothers lap, his legs hanging down one side of the beast and his upper body down the other. The creature had a deep, earthy smell, and its muscles rippled as it tore across the turf. Vah struggled to rise.

"Don't fight."

"What?" Vah couldn't make sense of what was happening. The beast slowed and trotted to a halt, and Isecan's strong arms helped Vah into a sitting position atop the massive animal. His brother's held him there.

"Easy," Isecan said.

"Isecan, what is this?" He could feel the beast's muscles, its breathing. It was massive.

"All is well, but you must come with me. We must hurry."

"What is happening?"

"I will explain later, but you must trust me, now."

"Isecan-"

"Will you trust me?"

There was undeniable urgency in his brother's tone. Collecting his senses, Vah twisted to look at his brother's face. A sheen of sweat beaded on Isecan's forehead, Vah saw a deep violet discoloration that looked nearly black in the morning light, with a texture like that of Endalia bark. The pigmentation flowed away from his mouth and across both cheeks.

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"What has happened? What is this beast?"

"I will explain," Isecan said, scooting backward along the animal's spine and giving Vah space. "Take hold of the mane and look ahead. We cannot linger."

"But—"

"No more talk!"

With a sudden surge, the beast sprang forward. Vah nearly toppled off but for Isecan's grip. Taking two great handfuls of the beast's flowing mane, Vah leaned forward above its neck, gripping with his legs down to its muscled chest. The beast's fine coat was black—so black that at times it appeared blue, or maybe it was blue, dark like the high heavens at the dying dusk. Its powerful muscles surged beneath him.

The wind whipped by at such speed that Vah's hair mixed with the flying mane. It was an exhilaration he'd never before known, but one he could not enjoy. His mind flew faster than the beast, but though he yelled questions back to Isecan, his brother gave no reply. Miles fell away behind them and still the beast did not slow. All he could do was cling to its mane and try to move with its stride. Vah had never had reason to distrust Isecan, and if his brother asked for trust, then he must give it, even through such wildness.

All that day they rode, though not always at a run. After the initial miles, the creature slowed into a sustained trot that made Vah bounce up and down and struggle to stay balanced. At times, the beast would slow to a walk, only to burst into a run again, and then a long trot, and a walk. . . As Vah allowed his mind to clear, his body to feel the motions, his muscles to relax, he sank into the different rhythms of the beast's gaits. The impeccable balance and long limbs of the Vien tree-climbers aided him.

By evening, the beast's strength appeared to fade. Its flanks were rimed with frosted sweat. They came to a sheltered stream along which grew some thicker turf, and the beast stopped and commenced to rip at the faded grass, its long neck sweeping to the ground, its horns curved up just enough to allow it to graze.

"Let us alight and speak for a time," Isecan said. He had been quiet through the day, refusing to speak or answer questions. Vah slid down the beast's side, and when his wrapped feet hit the hard cold ground, a shock of pain shot through his legs. His feet had gone numb, and his legs were stiff. The beast continued to graze, taking no apparent notice of them. Vah sank to his knees, realized he was thirsty, and drank deeply of the cold water, lapping it on all fours. While ice crusted the edges, the movement had kept the course of the little stream free. As if thinking Vah a good example, the massive creature stepped beside him and drank as well, grunting. Isecan, too, refreshed, so that for a few moments all three hung their heads over the water.

Sitting up and wiping his mouth, Isecan spoke:

"Already my mind eases," he said. He patted the beast's neck. "For a time, I feared I would lose him so close to Findel's Source. I call him Aesela. Is he not unlike anything you have seen?"

That last part certainly was true.

"I do not understand," Vah said. It had been his refrain for months, a constant irritation.

"In another day and night of hard riding, we will be back," Isecan continued, apparently ignoring his brother's confusion.

"Back where?"

"I will show you, and then I will explain all when you can see for yourself and hear it from the others, too."

"The others are safe as well?"

"We are all well. Better than well, now."

"Does Findel know?"

The muscles along Isecan's jaw tensed.

"I came only for you."

"Why could we not speak with the others. We feared you all lost. Our hearts have grieved for you, and now Findel will worry over me as well. He expected me back within a week. If I do not return, others might be endangered searching for me." Even as he said it, Vah remembered that Findel had sent no one in search of Isecan.

"I must ask only that you trust me, if ever I have earned your trust and brotherly fidelity. But if it puts your mind at ease, I believe Findel knows that I returned, and he will suspect you are alive."

"How?"

"I know this by the Current."

Vah shook his head. He found that wretched pool of water unnerving from the start, but he had a growing hatred for it, all while knowing it was the only reason his people were still alive. Should he demand that Isecan return him to the camp? Why couldn't the tale be told before an audience of their people—and their brother? Even as he asked, something darkened his heart, seeds of doubt and fear well-sprouted. Not all was right at the camp. Not all was right with Findel.

"We rest here for a few hours," Isecan said, "And then we ride again."

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