There was more cracking and sweeping of limbs, then a “Hoy. Anyone?”

“Sugar!” Legs called. He let go of Talen’s grip and darted out of the barn, almost running toward the sound, one hand high, one low in front of him. “Sugar!”

“Hush,” said the Creek Widow.

Sugar ran to her brother and wrapped him in a hug. “Thank the Creators,” she said.

“Thank Talen,” said Legs.

Sugar looked over at him.

“Oh, we’ve become bosom buddies,” said Talen.

“Have you been followed?” asked the Creek Widow.

“No,” said Sugar. “Well, I don’t know.”

“There was no way you were coming back from chasing that monster,” said Talen.

“Well,” she whispered. “I guess you underestimated me.”

“Quickly,” said the Creek Widow, “give me the facts.”

Sugar related her tale of following River. She ended by saying, “I trailed the monster to its lair. But I did not go far. It returned. I was close enough to almost reach out and touch it. It chased me for a time, but I haven’t seen sign of it since this afternoon.”

“You’re a brave one,” said the Creek Widow. She looked at Talen. “That’s something to mark.”

He couldn’t tell if that meant Sugar was to be lauded, or that he was cowardly in comparison and should learn from his betters. Or was she suggesting he should consider Sugar as a potential quality mate.

“Are we going to help my mother?” asked Sugar.

“What happened to River?” Talen asked.

“Everything in its time,” said the Creek Widow. “And now is not a time to chat in the yard. You three will follow me. And not a word until I say so.”

Talen looked at Sugar for his answer.

“It took her,” she whispered. “I saw it, in the morning light, carrying her like a baby.”

“Sst,” said the Creek Widow to silence them. She pointed at Legs. “Get him up on the horse.”

Then she walked out into the road.

“Was she alive?” Talen asked.

Sugar hesitated. “I couldn’t tell.”

Talen nodded, then he lifted Legs onto the Tailor’s back. At least River wasn’t twisted in a broken heap like the Shoka they called Gid. He took the reins and followed the Creek Widow into the night.

At their departure, Warrior hauled himself up, padded over to the chicken coop, and dropped his bones squarely in front of the door. Talen considered the dog. Perhaps liveliness wasn’t the only asset a hound might possess.

Sugar walked alongside the Tailor, holding her brother’s ankle. She had been brave to follow that creature. Braver than he. The thought had never occurred to him to follow River. It was true that she’d ordered him away. But he hadn’t given it a second thought.

They walked in silence, the Creek Widow in the lead, Talen coming behind, leading the Tailor and Legs. Talen whispered a prayer to the ancestors to protect River.

The moon rose and moved across the starry heaven. Talen’s weariness threatened to overwhelm him. He tried walking with his eyes closed, but stumbled over a rock and upset the Tailor.

The old stallion jerked his head back and lurched to the side. Legs, who had drifted asleep, fell to the ground, and only cried out when he landed with a thump. Obviously, Sugar herself had been too tired to react swiftly enough to catch him. Talen steadied the horse and moved him away from Legs. Sugar moved to her brother’s side, feeling for breaks and cuts.

“I’m fine,” he said and got to his feet.

“Tie him in the saddle this time,” said the Creek Widow.

Talen moved to the saddlebags to find the rope the Creek Widow had put there.

“Look at the three of you,” the Creek Widow said. “Bone-tired.” She produced three sticks of horehound from a pocket and gave one to each of them. “A bit of sweet should help.” Then she cupped each of them in turn about the neck just as Da had cupped him about the neck when he’d tied the godsweed charm about his arm before they’d gone to Whitecliff. Just like Da’s, the Creek Widow’s hand was icy cold.

She smiled at him. “We cannot afford to be caught sleeping.”

In moments, his fatigue lessened, and he knew she’d just worked some Sleth business on him.

Talen sucked on his horehound. “What else have you got in those pockets?” he asked her.

She smiled. “That’s my secret.”

They continued on around hills, through black ravines, always traveling the smaller roads. Twice they took disused trails that had surrendered to weeds and thin saplings. Sucking the horehound did help keep him awake, but it disappeared too quickly. Even the effects of the Creek Widow’s magic eventually faded. The fatigue returned, and he plodded, wanting nothing more than to lie down in the dirt. He looked back at Sugar walking alongside the Tailor. The effect didn’t seem to be wearing off on her. She smiled at Talen and he turned back around. When they finally branched off onto what could be no more than an animal trail, the Creek Widow spoke. “I think we’re safe. The refuge is only a mile or so away.”

“This is by Boar’s Point, isn’t it?” asked Sugar.

On the south end of the settled lands, at the edge of a vast, fertile valley, a line of hills ran like a great crooked finger down toward the sea. At the tip of that finger two rivers converged. Sometimes, in the heat of the summer, you could see hundreds of boar there. They came to wallow in the mud on the banks of the shallow, wide river, not only to cool themselves, but also to protect their hides from insects.

“It is,” said the Creek Widow.

“Does this refuge have a bed?” asked Talen.

“Beds, baths, and dancing girls,” said the Creek Widow.

“You can watch the girls,” said Talen. “I’m going to sleep.”

“That’s a good boy.”

They walked a few more paces, then Talen asked, “And how will River know to come here?”

“Because it is the refuge.”

“And if she doesn’t come?”

The Creek Widow looked over at him. “What do you want me to say, Talen?”

He wanted her to say that everything would be all right, that this awful storm would blow over and they could go back to mowing hay in the autumn sun. But he knew that would never be. Everything was all wrong, and it would only get worse. “I don’t know,” he said. And suddenly the whole mess overwhelmed him. Da, River, the beast. It was too much, and his eyes began to sting.

A few paces more and the Creek Widow reached over and felt the tears on his cheek with the back of one finger.

When she pulled her hand away, she grunted. Then she turned and stopped them. “I want you three to listen to me.”

“I wasn’t weeping,” said Talen.

“Cha,” she said, cutting him off. “There is no shame in tears, especially when they’re motivated by love. But the strong do not wallow in bleakness. Until the very end, they look for leverage, for a way to make the best of the situation. They generate options and plans and act. Hope, we must never lose hope.”

“It’s not that easy,” said Talen.

“Of course not. That’s why it’s so powerful.” She pointed her finger at him. “Even death can be turned to victory.”

Talen did not see how that could be.

“Your mother did that,” she said.

“What was her victory?”

“You don’t believe me.”

“My mother was a soul-eater,” said Talen. He didn’t mean it that way, but that’s how it came out.

“Such words,” she said. “I should slap you down. Your mother was no soul-eater.”

“My mother doesn’t matter,” he said. “The question is what do we do about Da? What do we do about the creature and River?”

“We stop the creature,” she said. “As for your da, Ke will let us know the situation. We will slay him only as a last resort. Despite your da’s ardent wish for us to escape, I’m in command now. And I’m loath to leave that man behind.”

“That’s not a plan,” said Talen.

“Interrupting is not helpful,” she said.

“You’re right,” he said. “Let me begin again. What manner of creature is this?”