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of vapors. Ilyenna’s breath caught in her throat. The shadows surged and spilled over her feet like smoke, then stretched up, reaching for her. She cried out as they crawled up her body, covering her like a second skin.
    Ilyenna scrubbed at her arms, trying to remove the shadows, but they clung to her. Her heart thudded painfully in her chest as she stumbled and fell back into the snow. Suddenly the shadows returned to the ground. She pulled her sleeves up, revealing her pale skin, no shadows in sight.
    She scrambled to her feet and ran from the graveyard. At the clan house, she hurried past Enrid and went straight upstairs to her father. She knelt beside him, pressing her fingers to his face. He shifted away from her cold touch.
    Moving to the other bed, she touched her brother. His fever had broken and his color was better. Relief warred with horror inside Ilyenna. She pressed her hands into her stomach and doubled over. It was never a good idea to attract the attention of the dead. But if she was careful, perhaps they would forget about her. Besides, she’d had no choice.
    After feeding the qatcha to her father and brother, Ilyenna stumbled back to the kitchen and collapsed in a chair. The first thing she noticed was that someone had already removed the dead man.
    Enrid glanced up. “You’re up early,” she whispered so as not to wake those lying on the floor. As cold as it was outside, heat shimmered from the huge fireplace. Enrid ran a knife through a nutty brown loaf of bread and slapped some lard on a slice; the butter had run out a few days ago. She held the bread out to Ilyenna.
    Ilyenna shook her head. “I’m all right.” The burden of caring for so many was crashing down on her. She braced herself against the table as panic swelled in her chest.
    “Winter’s almost up,” Enrid said.
    Ilyenna grunted. “Just in time to start digging for roots and shriveled berries.”
    They’d already started killing barren ewes. The dogs would be next. She wondered how they’d survive next year if they were forced to decimate their herds.
    Glancing around, she couldn’t help but once again notice the Argon’s clothes. Most of the people had been forced to flee their homes with what little clothing they’d had on. Ilyenna was still treating their frostbite.
    It was cold still, cold enough they’d need warm clothes and coats. At least Ilyenna wouldn’t have to worry about finding enough wool. The Shyle’s poor, rocky soil didn’t offer up much in the way of fields or even gardens. But the steep slopes and harsh winters were perfect for raising sheep and goats, and the Shyle had wool by the bagful. The clan women carded and spun that wool into the finest yarn and cloth in all the clan lands.
    Ilyenna stood abruptly, took the bread, and put her hand on the door latch. She had to get away from here—from the dead, the injured, and the emptying foodstores.
    “Ilyenna, what’s wrong?” Enrid asked.
    She paused. She almost considered telling Enrid what she’d done. But it would only anger and frighten the old woman. “I’m going to buy every skein of yarn or bolt of felt Volna Plesti will give me.” The woman and her family operated the enormous dye vats far downwind of the village, near the mouth of the canyon.
    Enrid smiled and nodded. Just yesterday she’d said Ilyenna needed to get out of the clan house. “Make sure you bring all the knitting needles she has as well.”
    Ilyenna hesitated. “You’re certain you can handle things?”
    Enrid cast Ilyenna a look of exasperation. “I was the clan mistress not long ago, remember?”
    Ilyenna shouldered open the door and hurried away. The sun had turned the west mountain faces pink, but had yet to touch the valley. A cold wind snaked through the tightly woven fabric of her coat. She hugged it tighter, wishing Otrok hadn’t taken Myst with him to guard the entrance to the Shyle.
    Already, many figures were about—boys gathering and chopping wood, girls