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warn me. Only far enough to see it was big and dry. And the tunnel snake signs. Good eating.” He rolled his eyes and smacked his lips at the prospect. “There’s even a stream and—a cascade, too.”
    Aramina hesitated, eyeing the steep bank and wondering if Pell’s enthusiasm hadn’t clouded his judgment. Pell would go through life seeing only what he hoped he was seeing, not what really was. But the need to get under shelter was critical. No matter if Pell had exaggerated: he had found a cave. Her father could decide on its suitability.
    “How far up the slope is it?”
    “Straight to the top of the ridge”—Pell pointed—“down into the dip past the nut plantation. Turn to your right at the forked birch and you’ll stare right at the entrance. Only it’s to the left. A good overhang. C’mon, I’ll show you.”
    “No, you wait here. Nexa’s down there digging roots”—Aramina pulled a face at her brother’s sour expression—“which we need nearly as much as the cave.” She hesitated once more. Maybe she ought to check the cave first, rather than raise false hopes.
    “Ah, ’Mina, I wouldn’t lie about shelter.”
    Aramina scrutinized her brother’s face, his features contorted into an expression of utter trustworthiness. No, Pell wouldn’t lie about something that important. A ray of sunlight broke through the clouds, lancing past the soughing tree branches, reminding her that there was little time left if they were to be under cover when Thread fell.
    “
Don’t
wander off! You know how scared Nexa gets.” Aramina threw a deft twist of cord about the neck of her root sack and tossed it to the side of the logging track.
    “I won’t stir from her side. But I expect I’d do better gathering kindling.” Thus avoiding his most hated chore of rooting, Pell diligently collected branches.
    Aramina started off down the track in a lope, her long plaits bouncing off her shoulders and buttocks. She was light on her feet, moving with an economy of movement that would have been envied by a hold runner.
    The sunlight seemed to follow her, illuminating her way on the overgrown trace, the springiness underfoot making the going a pleasure. She shortened her stride as the track switched back on itself, and listened intently, over the thud of her footfalls, for the sound of the wagon. Surely it hadn’t taken her father too long to whittle the necessary pins: Dowell and Barla should have made some distance up the logging road. Surely she ought to have heard the lumbering wagon, her father’s voice urging Nudge and Shove to their task.
    Peering through the thickly planted trees, Aramina looked for some glimpse of the covered wagon. Apprehension lent her impetus and down the trace she sped, every nerve anxiously alert for any reassuring sight or sound. Faster she ran, positive now in her mind that something had happened. Could Lady Holdless Thella have possibly caught up with them?
    Taking a more direct line, she bypassed the next turn and pushed through the underbrush, wiggling past trees. Then, as she discerned the bulk of the green-smeared wagon cover through the trees, she moved more circumspectly. The wagon had not shifted from the spot in which they had left it two hours past.
    Trembling with fear, Aramina paused, listening now for the sound of voices, for the bass rumble of Giron or the crisp acid alto of Thella. Hearing nothing but the wind soughing through the leafless trees, she moved cautiously down until she was poised on the bank above where the wagon was still canted. Muffling a cry of fear, Aramina slid down the bank, recoiling in horror as she saw her father’s head and shoulders protruding from under the wagon. Somehow the blocks had slipped and the wheel lay once again on its side. Horrified, Aramina was certain that her father had been crushed to death until she saw that one block had fallen directly under the wagon bed, preventing the complete collapse of the heavy load onto her father’s