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clucked her tongue softly in sympathy. The sandwolf lifted a woefully grateful expression at Gwyn’s support and sneezed once more.
    “Dumauz — I hope you’re not catching ill?”
    The animal shook her head adamantly, but Gwyn could not tell if it was in response to the words or to the latest tree-shed of water.
    At least it wasn’t actually raining anymore. The spring downpour had been brief, even if overly enthusiastic. Gwyn was only pleased that they weren’t being forced to weather a full-seeded thunderstorm.
    Ty bounded up the road, panting from the uphill grade and the clinging pull of the poor footing. The sandwolf’s head dropped low, her massive shoulders heaving with gasps for air, and Ril trotted forward in concern. With a shudder, the larger wolf pulled herself together and tossed her tongue back into her mouth before turning. She whined as she pointed down the road.
    There was need of help below, Gwyn realized with a jolt, and disbelief that any other would risk this slippery mud was usurped by a sudden thought for the river’s gorge. Gwyn unlashed the tether lines and dropped them. “Ty, rest and bring the horses on. Ril — show me where!”
    The sandwolves paused, passing wordless knowledge between them, and then Ril darted forward. Gwyn clamped her heels to Cinder’s flanks and prayed the footing would hold.
    The foliage broke and the wind whipped at them from the canyon below. A rough stone wall lined the muddy trek as the road leveled and followed the river’s gorge. Gwyn felt the barest relief as her gaze found no sign of damage in that wall. The roar of the Suiri River echoed high with the wind. She urged Cinder on towards the mountain crevice that bent the road sharply north, but the bay had to slow some to keep her footing. As they rounded the bend, a gasp caught in Gwyn’s throat at the sight of the bridge below. Along the mountainside the road twisted and turned, dropping some fifty feet to where the wooden scaffolding of the bridge spanned the gorge. Upon the side of that bridge, a wagon hung. The rear axle was clinging tenaciously to the side of the structure, the right back wheel was shattered and dangled as the team of horses shied, threatening to slide and slip back even further.
    There was the steady voice of a man calling, his low pitch trying to cut through the distorted eddies of the wind — trying to stay calm. Then above it all, the answering wail of a child came. Gwyn felt her heart stop as she made out a small, bundled figure in the rear of the wagon.
    As quickly as she dared, she guided Cinder down. Below, the harnessed horses screeched a shrill sound of fear that rang through the gorge cliffs.
    “Ril!” Gwyn called sharply. Shamed, the sandwolf retreated from the foot of the bridge, belatedly remembering the wagon’s team was not from Valley Bay and would be terrified by a sandwolf.
    Gwyn snatched both rope and sword from her gear and left Cinder with Ril. Shedding her cloak and the bulky copper coat as she moved, Gwyn felt her feet slide in each step. The wooden boards were slick, and it was suddenly very easy to see what had happened.
    With an agonizing creak the wood of axle and bridge strained. The wagon shifted again, then steadied. The left front wheel was nearly thigh high off the bridge. The draft team had grown calmer, but there was no decent footing for their strength to be used.
    “Marshal!” the burly man at the horses’ heads shouted his greetings in relief.
    Gwyn stowed her discards in the wagon seat, already tying the rope about her waist.
    “My daughter is not nearly five seasons. She’s caught below in the wagon box, but each time she goes to climb the load shifts and the horses lose another handspan of footing.”
    “I can see why.” Gwyn grimly took up her sword again. A step or two shy from the edge she paused, eyeing the broken railings with dislike. She would not trust her life to those severed timbers. With a deep scowl she planted her feet