Hella's washing station is wider. The runoff hits the filling spot.
Both right. Neither going to admit it.
"Move the washing station two paces upstream," I tell Hella. "Past the bend. Runoff carries south."
"That's farther from my dwelling."
"Yes."
She looks at me. Decides not to argue.
"Fine."
"And you." I turn to Bren's mother. "Fill before dawn. Less foot traffic. Cleaner water."
"I already—"
"Before.dawn."
She nods and they leave.
The stream runs over the rocks. I crouch, splash cold water over my face. Numbness across my skin. Cold in my teeth, behind my eye—
Honey and chamomile.
She was here. This morning, maybe earlier.
My fingers dig into the cold mud.
Don't.
Graw border. Getting hotter. That's what today is about.
Nother.
The clearing sounds different when I get back. Fire going. Two pots. Steam. And thatvoice.
"—bottom will scorch if you don't stir it. Here. See the color? That's what you want. Darker than that and it's ruined."
She is teaching someone to cook.
I stop at the treeline. Yesterday only a handful ate her food. Today—double that. Rhen on the same stump, bowl in hand. More wolves beside him. Liara at the second pot, stirring without being told.
Liara. Never says more than a few words at a time since her mate died.
Two years. Now she's standing beside a human woman, head tilted, hands moving.
I don't go to the fire. I go to my dwelling, pull on a clean shirt, and wait for Maren.
He's late.
"Eastern patrol came back early." Maren drops the bark markings on the table. "Fresh Graw scent along the ridge."
"How old?"
"Last night. Maybe dawn. Same two tracks as last week." He spreads the markings out. "Here. And here. They're mapping the game trails."
"That's deeper than before."
