they almost felt like tides, but if there was a Wilder out there besides, he couldn't feel it. He glanced back, then hurried down to the others.
Unsure what to do about keeping watch, he checked Chag and Pevan were alright. Chag was somehow managing to sleep despite facing the fire, his face bathed in its glare. Pevan lay on her back, one arm out from under her blanket, snoring quietly. Not so quietly that the fire's low roar could drown it out, mind. Atla hesitated for a moment over tucking her arm back in, but couldn't see a way of doing it that didn't risk waking her. Heaven alone knew what she'd make of it if she woke up to him interfering with her in any way.
He made a couple of slow circuits around the fire, changing direction when his outer side started to feel heat-deprived. Was the sky brighter? He could make out a few faint chirps coming from the forest, at least.
There was a boot-print in the ash about a third of the way around the fire from where the others were sleeping. Right beside the fire, so close that anyone standing there would probably have burst into flames immediately. It couldn't have been there before the fire - it was far too clear for that, and definitely a print in the ash, not the earth beneath. He tried to get closer, but the glare and the heat were so intense that he had to close his eyes and look away.
Maybe Pevan would have an explanation. When should he wake them? Not yet, obviously. The early risers among the dawn chorus might be beginning to sing, but the sky overhead was still dark. It took his eyes a long time to blink away the afterimages of the fire while he stood with his back to it, watching the vague silhouette of the mountain.
The sky was almost completely clear, at least to the East. It bled ever so slowly from blue, through a faintly greenish white, towards yellow. Across the lower part of the clearing, morning mist began to shimmer. Atla shuffled his feet and looked down to see them spotted with enough dew that it looked like a short, sharp rain shower must have just passed.
In the trees, the birds got noisier and noisier. Past a certain point, the sound went past beautiful and into raucous, an offence to the morning's stillness. The wind seemed to have died in the night, though the fire was still drawing in air. Though the steady creep of dawn light was already swamping the stars, the glow of the fire seemed undiminished.
Pevan awoke while the sky directly overhead was still closer to midnight than day blue. There was a hot glow on the distant eastern horizon, but even the mountaintop above them wasn't yet catching direct sunlight. The Gatemaker rolled over, muttered once - the sound spiralling skyward like a sycamore seed turned upside down - and sat up.
Atla almost wished her a good morning, then clamped his hand over his mouth to stop himself. Instead, he walked round to stand in front of her and waved.
She responded with a nod, then an Everything alright? gesture.
He gave her a thumbs-up, then offered his hand. She took it and he hauled her upright. Where Chag had been lighter than he looked, Pevan was rather heavier, though from the feel of her grip it was probably all muscle. Her hands were tiny, but when she released him he found himself flexing his fingers and feeling the knuckles pop.
She pressed the canteen into his hands, gestured I'll be right back, and headed for the treeline, her walk stiff. Automatically, Atla took a sip. He managed to keep it to only one, though. The canteen was worryingly light.
Pevan came back, miming drinking. He shook his head, and when she insisted, he had to concentrate to drag up the gesture for already done from his memory. A frown flickered across the Gatemaker's face, but then she smiled and gave him a thumbs-up. She did take the canteen back, though, and helped herself to a swig.
For a moment, they just looked at each other. Probably a good thing the Wild Power in the air precluded casual conversation, since Atla could think of absolutely nothing to say. From the way Pevan tilted her head to one side, the slightest of frowns on her face, she could see his awkwardness. He blushed, then remembered the footprint.
Gesturing for her to follow, he walked around to that side of the fire and knelt where he could point to the print. Pevan knelt facing him, leaned her head close to his to look along his finger. A stray hair tickled his cheek.
She reached towards the fire, thumb and little finger splayed as if trying to measure the print from a distance. A crab-like, shuffled step took her closer, but she pulled her hand back sharply after only a second. She met his eyes, face tense, then stood.
He followed her as she walked back downhill a little way. She pointed to Chag, then signed let him sleep a little longer. Atla nodded, glancing toward the mountain. It was definitely starting to stand out against the sky behind. Pevan sat, staring downhill, and he joined her.
When the sun finally did touch the mountain's peak, it struck a light there that briefly rivalled the Sherim, blazing off what must have been quite thick dew for such a height. They watched the line of the day descend towards them for a while longer, though, before Pevan snapped her fingers to get his attention. She made her way over to Van Raighan's sleeping form and prodded the thief in the back with her foot, right behind his kidney.
He curled up tighter, but gave no other sign of stirring. Pevan glanced over at Atla and rolled her eyes, then tried again, harder. At that, Chag flopped onto his back, a hand over his eyes. Pevan knelt and covered his mouth with a hand, then waved the canteen in front of his face.
Somehow, the strange performance had the desired effect. Chag sat up, took a long slug from the canteen, and rubbed his face. Atla suppressed a twinge of irritation, decided not to ask for a larger ration than the sip he'd awarded himself. Pevan offered Van Raighan a hand up, but he glared at her and got to his feet on his own.
The little man's first action, too, was to scamper off to the forest. Pevan folded her arms and stared after him. From the look in her eyes, it was a good job you had to speak or gesture to trigger Wild Power effects. What had the significance of that little refusal been?
She turned and began to walk slowly down the hill. Every few paces, she paused carefully and muttered something, and her words became clouds of tiny insects. They mingled in the steam of her breath and vanished with it. Tentatively, Atla began to shuffle after her, squinting at her face and trying to work out what she was saying. She didn't gesture for him to stop.
They were almost to the trees at the bottom of the clearing before the Wild Power dissipated enough for speech. After the fire's heat, the morning air was parasitically cold, and Atla became intimately conscious of just how much dew had soaked into his blanket and the bottoms of his trousers.
Pevan took a few more steps, still muttering, then turned and gestured him over. "How are you feeling?"
He waited until he'd caught up to her to answer. "Okay. Cold. Uh, you?" His breath plumed thickly, but there was no sign of a hazard in it. "Are we definitely safe to talk here?"
"For now." She looked up at the Sherim. "Provided no one gets angry or afraid. Well spotted on the footprint, by the way."
"You think it could be Rel's?" He swallowed, watched her face.
Her eyes flicked up to his, then back to the fire. "It could be some byproduct of the change in the Sherim. But yes, it might well be Rel's. At least that would mean he's alive."
"The fire..."
She folded her arms and took a visible deep breath. "If he's alive, it's because Taslin - she's a Gift-Giver - has some use for him. She wouldn't let him take any stupid risks." Something shifted in the Gatemaker's face, and her voice developed a slight hint of pleading. "Beyond that, I'd rather not speculate. Certainly not first thing in the morning."
Atla swallowed again and nodded. Chag had reappeared and was making his way down to them.
"We might as well get going straight away." Pevan was watching Chag approach with a fixed, distant expression. Her voice drifted, quiet and a little vague. "I don't think we're likely to see any change here any time soon, and it's a long way to Gorhilt."
What was her relationship to the thief? Atla couldn't read her face at all. He nodded, but she didn't
seem to notice. They stood like that, him looking at her and her staring away up the hill, frozen but for blinking, until Chag was only a few yards away. Then Pevan shook herself and pressed her finger to her lips. Chag stopped dead with a breath half-drawn to speak.
Looking chastened, he shuffled down to join them. Pevan poked him in the arm. "We're word-safe here, but you looked like you were about to speak too soon."
His eyebrows shifted with his eyes as he looked at her, but then he brightened. "So what's the plan?"
"Gorhilt." Pevan, too, perked up at the prospect of action. She fixed them with a quizzical look. "I hope you boys know your geography."
"Down to the plains, basically." Chag pointed roughly South. "The Sherim's on a high hill. Sticks out like a sore thumb. Can we stop somewhere and grab some food?"
Atla's stomach gurgled at the reminder. Pevan frowned, but her lips were twitching, subtly. "Probably a good idea, but when we're closer to Gorhilt. We can ask for better directions than 'over there somewhere' while we're at it." She spared a glance for Atla, ignoring Chag's protest. "You'll be okay 'til lunchtime?"
He nodded, and she opened a Gate just in front of the trees. They descended through the forest in short hops, growing longer when the pines gave way to beeches and birches. Birdsong followed them all the way down, and they even saw a