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overhang, so that even though it was shallow, it still provided a modicum of protection from above. It wouldn’t be an easy task to turn it into a camp, but they wasted no time getting about the work.
    Following Chelda’s lead, Darbon and Smythe made snow blocks. They helped place them so that the windblown snow would build up against them. This, she explained, would force the wind to ramp up the eventual drift and blow over the entrance to the shelter.
    She explained that, by morning, the wind would be diverted so that it wouldn’t swirl into the camp area at all. She said they could then stretch tarp awnings from the wall on ropes. This would extend the overhead protection out from that which the rock face naturally provided and also keep the ever-vigilant eyes of the flying predators from being able to lock onto their casual movements from above.
    The only real downfall to the setup was the fact that they had to leave the protection of the camp to look out across the open tundra. Vanx and the others agreed that it was a small price to pay for the relative comfort the shelter afforded them.
    Brody and Skog unloaded the supplies and stacked the cords of expensive firewood into waist-high walls that formed a pen for the haulkattens. The animals could have casually leapt over it, but none of them had any inclination to do so. The pungent fishmeal was stacked nearby, but under oilcloths so that the moisture couldn’t get at it.
    The shelter retained some of the fire’s warmth, and the savory scent of the stew the Skmoes were concocting soon filled it with a mouthwatering aroma.
    Darbon was moving about the shelter without his woolen shroud, and neither he nor Smythe were chattering or complaining now. It was as if they’d forgotten just how cold they’d been only hours before.
    Xavian came out of his tent looking tired and worn. He stopped to give Sir Poopsalot a scratch behind the ears when the dog greeted him, then found the others at the fire. The Skmoes gave him a wary look but otherwise went about the business of cooking. They were clearly leery of his magic. Chelda told them that in the Skmoe clans, only the shamans possessed the subtle sort of arcane power that gave insight into the near future, or clarified meanings out of events from the past. Both brothers could read seal’s teeth and otter bones, and they both had worked with magi of Xavian’s ilk, but neither had seen the sort of display of destructive power that Xavian had shown today, and neither tried to hide their nervousness.
    Smythe, too, had been visibly moved by Xavian’s crimson blast, but he wasn’t moved toward fear. He was in open-jawed awe of the wizard. After they chose their location to build the base camp and helped Chelda build the wind wall, Smythe turned himself into a sort of personal attendant to the mage. Xavian seemed annoyed by this.
    “It’s a blowin’ yah,” Chelda said as she came in from beyond the camp’s entrance. Her body briefly diverted the powerful wind, sending a swath of frigid air swirling invisibly across the area. The torches flickered from their makeshift sconces on the walls, and the fire under the Skmoes’ kettle wavered. In unison, both Darbon and Smythe shivered as the bitter air flowed past them.
    “The wall is building up nicely,” the big woman continued, as she shed her heavy, gray-furred cloak and unbound her coat. “By morn’ it’ll be a full drift and we could maybe get those tarps up.”
    “Aye.” Vanx nodded from one of the unsplit logs they’d turned into a fireside seat. “While you and the boys do that, I think Endell and the twins should take one sled, while me, Brody, and Xavian take another. We can scout more ground that way and maybe pick up on some shrew spoor or spot a tunnel.”
    “Not a bad plan,” Endell said. “But we—”
    “Don’t expect me to be homemaking for the lot of you filthy scrubs,” Chelda interrupted indignantly. “I didn’t sign on to play Mother