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She gets up and crouches by the hearth and moves the spit herself, out to the edge, with the open side over the coals.

“Here. You want this heat. The skin’ll burn if you put it where you had it.”

“I’ve cooked fish before.”

“Then you can try it this way. I want to eat the skin.”

She settles back onto the stone, leaving her left arm against her side. She’s put that fish a long way from the fire.

“Mel taught you this?”

“After the early gifts, she thought she’d better.”

The thick part will take longer from there. I put the second fish closer, and Kestria points at it.

“That one too.”

I move it beside the first.

She watches until I take my hand away, then reaches for the water cup and drinks while I break another piece of wood. I push one end into the hearth.

“Leave that out for now.”

“The fire’s getting low.” I set the wood aside, and she lowers the cup between her feet.

“The coals are hot.”

The thin edge is starting to smell cooked, so I turn the first spit and bring it in toward the heat for the thick part, and Kestria catches the cool end and takes it out of my hand.

“Move over.”

Her fingers are around the wood, and they aren’t letting go. Nobody’s taken anything out of my hand since I was a boy.

“You brought me along to do the fishing. Let me finish it.”

She holds on, chin up.

“Riesa.”

I grunt it under my breath and shift to the other stone. My own hearth, and I’m on the far stone watching her run it. She narrows her eyes at me but keeps the spit.

She puts the fish back where she wants it. A little fat drips into the coals, and she moves the second spit clear of the flare. I pull the bowl of entrails away from her foot.

“Have you got any herbs?”

“No.” I set the bowl beside me.

“Garlic? Onions?”

“Roots.”

“Which roots?”

I point to the basket by the wall, and she leans over to check inside, then sits back.

“Those can go with it. I still want herbs.”

“It’s fish. Why does it need leaves?”