Vah kept vigil with those around the campfire. The lower branches of the trees had already been snapped off to feed the flames. High above, the wind roared in the treetops, sounding like an enraged sea. With so many trying to stay close to the fire, it was difficult to find a place, and Vah dozed upright, held there by the pressed bodies of those huddled around him.

The wind stopped so suddenly that it roused him, and not him alone. Many fire-lit faces looked skyward as the trees fell silent and the air stilled. The smoke ceased its swirling. The uncanny silence that replaced the roar made the crack of the embers audible. So complete was the stillness that Vah suspected it was no true change of weather.

Though the absence of wind brought great relief, the temperature did not begin to rise until mid-morning. Soon, it was undeniable that the snow was melting. No hint of wind returned. Some of the exhausted lay down and slept side by side in relief. Vah even heard a peal of laughter somewhere in the camp. Later in the day, he watched one after another climb out of one of the rock-and-branch shelters, until he wondered how they had all fit. Their breath no longer misted in the air.

Before evening, Vah left the tir and headed toward the Wellspring. It was no surprise to find Findel there, sitting cross-legged beside the waters. Hard, knobby blue pigmentations had encircled his wrists. Vah sat next to him in the same manner, glancing at the sky. Heavy grey clouds rolled overhead, obviously driven along by high winds. He thought he could see white snow blowing far, far above, but none of it reached them.

Together they sat, feeling the heat of the bubbling pool. The sun dipped below the vale-side.

"Is there a limit to it? To what can be done by the Source?" Vah asked.

Findel took his time in answering.

"There is immense power, but it grows thinner as it flows away, dissipating like a fog. And it is drawn into us—me and the others, I mean. Not just by grasping the Current, but just by being here. It changes us. If ten thousand tried to grasp it at once, there wouldn't be enough to wet their hands."

"None of the others here bear such marks. Only those who grasp it."

Findel looked at Vah with a sharp eye, and Vah regretted saying those. His brother raised his hands and turned them over to look at the disfigurement.

"It is not like this, but all are changed. All but you."

It was true. Only Vah still had the translucent skin and hair of their people.

***

Over the next week, the tips of most of Vah's toes and a few of his finger, plus the heel on his right foot, turned black. The tissue hardened and flaked. The pain ceased, but the other Vien looked at him with worry and aversion, for they had never seen such an ailment. Thankfully, huddled around fire or in their shelters, the others had avoided such dire consequence of the cold. Fewer and fewer spoke to him as he hobbled around the camp, more and more he understood he was not like them. He wondered if he should return to Isecan, but he had not yet given up the hope of persuading Findel, although after their conversations, he wasn't sure exactly what he was trying to convince Findel to do. His eldest brother was shielding their people from whatever was happening to his own body.

Once again, song returned to the Vien as they walked in the warmth beneath the trees and tended the plants and herbs that now grew even without the constant exertion of Findel's will. They missed the fruits and roots and delicacies of their old home; the few edible plants they had found in the blasted landscape made for tiring eating day after day, but at least it was eating. They lived. They survived, and they had a chance at a future. Findel had a point about that, at least. As the days passed, the Vien continued to change. Their hair flushed brighter yellow or darker black. Even their skin flushed with browns and golds.

The protection of what the people started to call "Findel's Embrace" only covered the tir and the Wellspring. A few of the Vien had sighted horned-ones galloping across the frozen landscape beyond the circle of warmth. Their eager report of the mighty creatures caused a stir in the camp. Findel said nothing about them, and neither did Vah. If his brother considered taming them with the Current, he didn't mention it. Isecan had always been more resourceful, more creative, and more easily frustrated, while Findel had always been unwavering once he got something in his mind. Up until now, they had never found any lasting reason to disagree. The tawdry spats of their prior lives felt childish and meaningless, now.

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Rope-making began in earnest, a high art among the Vien. Breaking apart plant fibers, twisting and braiding and splicing, the results were both light and strong. The deft fingers of the Vien worked eagerly, for they loved to sleep in the trees and wove webs of ropes between branches and ladders for climbing. They wove fiber hammocks and strung them swaying high above the ground, as was the custom of their people before their tragedy. Their crude ground shelters were abandoned, and at their request, Findel let in small breezes, so the trees moved and their tops swayed.

Vah had difficulty joining in the peaceful labors of his people, for his fingers were too injured for the delicate work with the plant fibers. He occupied himself in what tasks he could manage, though the others were wary of him. He had to cut a stout, long branch from one of the red-barked trees to help him balance, for most of his toes were now useless and dying. To occupy himself, he stripped the bark and used a knapped piece of obsidian to carve vines and leaves into it.

Vah was engaged in this work when young Gilnafel descended with speed and fear from the trees, sliding down a rope. Somehow, he both yelled and whispered at once.

"Quth!" It came out more as a hiss. "Quth!"

Monsters.

Thankfully, no one screamed. Instead, the Vien still on the ground scrambled up into the trees. Vah could not climb because of his toes and fingers, the tips hardened and black. He had been sleeping in one of the abandoned huts on the ground. As he watched his people scrambling up branches and ropes, he saw in bright flashes of memory when the quth first came. Hundreds of their people had fled into the trees, but the quth bore stone axes, and they burned and slashed and flung stones. Only those who fled had survived—all those who now climbed.

Vah stood, leaning on his stick, hobbling toward the Wellspring, for he knew Findel would be there alone. Hurrying as best he could down the side of the tir, Vah gazed out through the trees at the open, broken plain beyond. How had the quth followed them over so many miles and so long a time? A line of dark shapes moved across the broken terrain a quarter of a mile to the south. It had snowed again outside Findel's Embrace, and the hunched figures trudged in single file through drifts.

Even at a distance, Vah knew that these were not quite the same beasts who had attacked them before. They were similar in frame, but their hair was longer, blowing in the wind. Rather than the color of sand, the hair was grey, almost white in a few. Some of the quth carried between them poor dead creatures trussed on poles. They were the smooth-skinned sea-beasts they had often seen lounging along the shores during their journey.

The quth did not approach. Instead, they were skirting east at a quick pace, staring warily at the green trees and grass on the tir. The line of quth was long. At a glance, Vah suspected there were at least two hundred. They carried large wrapped burdens, dragged piled litters behind them across the snow, and he saw spears and knives among them. The quth had attacked them with far greater numbers in the south, but the Vien were far fewer now, as well.

They had been fools to think that time and distance would protect them from the quth. Vah relied on his staff to hurry him toward the Wellspring. He found Findel there.

"The quth are here!"

Findel flinched as he opened his eyes.

"Is that what it is?" he asked.

"They have weapons."

"We could make weapons," Findel said, his tone flat.

"We are not fighters." The word Vah used was penam, which was the behavior of a predator like the panther.

"It would appear life seeks to change that." Findel rose to his feet. "And life has given me power."

"Can the Current. . . Can it. . . kill?"

"Not without great cost."

Vah squinted at his brother.

"Have you tried?"

Findel squinted, looking irritated.

"Not on our people."

"On what then?"

"I needed to know. I needed to know what was possible—for such a time as this!"

"On what?"

"One of the horned-ones."

Vah felt a pang of revulsion. Had his brother harmed one of those mighty beasts?

"What did you do?"

"I tried to steal the wind from its lungs, and the heat from its blood. I might have, except—" Findel raised his shirt, exposing his torso. The skin of the right side of his torso had grown thick and rough, with growths like the knobs of bark. Streaks of blue and yellow ran through the marred skin. "I might have done it," Findel said, "but I do not know what would have become of me."

"So the Current cannot help us, then," Vah said. He still felt repulsed, but the quth were a more pressing concern.

"It can help," Findel said. "Just not in that manner. I do not fear these quth, but I will try to hurry them on their way." Findel sat back down and closed his eyes again. "Go tell our people to be of good courage."

"What are you going to do?" Vah asked.

"Go," Findel said.

Vah turned, knowing by Findel's tone that he would be stubborn. Hurry them on their way. Their way was east. Isecan was east, and Vah wondered if Isecan had put killing by the Current to such a trial. There was no way that Vah could venture out of Findel's Embrace and into the storms and snow on foot to warn Isecan.

He would have to hope in Isecan's resourcefulness—and watchfulness—and in whatever Findel had in mind.

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