Luthold approached Adalina. She sat outside their home mouthing something to herself as though rehearsing a line or trying to understand one. She saw him coming and he shook his head before she could ask if there was any news. On the third day of searching, they had found no trace yet of either child. Their chances faded, especially since the rain. Today, fresh black smoke in the sky had caused the parties to return early.

He sat beside his daughter and reached across to rub her shoulder. She leaned in and he placed his arm around her. He thought she would ask again for permission to join the searches, but she had something else on her mind.

“I keep thinking about what that Sullin said at assembly.”

“Erlends.”

She nodded.

“Everyone is frightened now.” She looked at him with warning in her eyes. “When you and the others left today, people talked about ending the searches. They say every time someone leaves the village, they risk revealing it. The elders won’t call off the search, will they?”

Luthold did not want to answer that question. He looked away and mumbled:

“They haven’t done yet.” Then he looked at her again. Something about her demeanour surprised him. Had she stopped blaming herself, finally? She looked deep in thought, instead of regret.

“What do you make of the Sullin and their story? Do you believe the Republic is attacking the forest?” He realised as he asked, that they had not spoken yet about her first assembly.

“Their story matches everything we’ve seen, including that body Mother found.” She spoke slowly, thinking out loud. “But what he proposes sounds too careful for them. They want us to help them gather an army. The whole forest under one leader-”

“Their leader,” interjected Luthold.

“But not to fight. To talk. To haggle for a portion of what we already own. It doesn’t seem like them, that’s all.”

“It’s exactly like them,” Luthold replied. “The Sullin are hagglers who haggle with their swords. They’ll be peacemakers, so long as the peace is made in their favour. You’ll see what happens if we follow their plan. A smaller forest will be left for Seveners, but more of it will be theirs.”

“You don’t think we should help them.” Adalina stated, her brow furrowed. “Neither do I. I don’t trust them. But what if they’re right? What if Dombarrow conquers the forest? Wouldn’t it be better to hold on to a part of it? They’d probably leave after a while, and we could move back.”

Luthold tried to form an answer and realised he did not have one. The Sullins’ plan sounded reasonable. But they always managed to sound reasonable while they robbed you. His gut told him things that his tongue could not articulate.

“I know this, Ada,” he replied. “The day we put our future in the hands of the Sullin will be a desperate one. Let’s hear what they say in Scursditch when Aimar returns. Elder Mildred will bring news from the South. Perhaps things aren’t as bad as they seem.”

After assembly, the elders sent two parties to gather intelligence and seek advice. Aimar went to town, to consult with the mayor on behalf of Oslef, and to sound out any Virunin or Lujin who were trading there. Those clans could tell of what they had seen along the rivers and the eastern coastline. Oslef would usually have sent Luthold in his stead, but the elder had allowed him to stay with the search parties.

Meanwhile, Elder Mildred had gone south with her two reluctant nephews to brave a conversation with the Levonin. The southernmost clan would never be found on the streets of Scursditch, rubbing shoulders with those they considered little different from Western city dwellers.

“Look, Father! Heridan is back.” Adalina pointed. “But he’s alone. Didn’t he go today with Elder Joturn?”

It was true. Joturn had asked Heridan to show him where he first met the Sullin refugees. But now Heridan emerged from the forest with sweat running down his face and his sword in hand. Luthold and Adalina leaped to their feet and hurried to hear him.

“Heridan!” Luthold called as he and his daughter approached. “What have you seen?” Other clansfolk quickly gathered round.

Heridan bent double and pulled in deep breaths, before standing and declaring:

“Sleepers! The smell of them is everywhere in the North. It’s a month too soon, but root sleepers are waking in forest.”

Clansfolk gasped and shook their heads. Some smiled, too. Luthold understood. Their oldest enemies could yet prove their saviours, if they liked the taste of these foreign soldiers. Luthold, however, thought of Oli and his heart trembled. His son could not survive under such conditions.

“Joturn and I stumbled on a trail,” Heridan continued. “He heard them move in the ground and he ordered me to flee while he drew them off. I don’t know which way he planned to go. Is Torvald here? What paths did he plan to use?”

A child who was listening began to cry, and another asked:

“Will Elder Joturn come back? Can he run faster than sleepers?”

Heridan pulled himself together and replied:

“He can make himself as silent as a falling leaf, and he can vanish like the wind into narrow paths that you and I cannot even see. Joturn will come back to us; wait and see.”

Luthold shut his eyes and raised his face to the sky. He breathed deeply. It’s almost over, he thought. The search for Oli is almost over. He felt Adalina’s hand on his elbow and he looked down at her.

“Father, how long will it take for Joturn to come back?” she whispered. “Will he be able to shake them off? I know he’s fast, but...”

“I’m going to speak with Elder Oslef, Ada. Will you look for your mother and tell her what’s happened?” He pulled himself away from Adalina and walked quickly to the centre of the village, where the three large homes of the elders stood close to the central fire.

Luthold encountered Thilo with a small group lingering around Oslef’s roundhouse. A couple of the new Sullin guests watched the door from a distance. Thilo moved to stop him as he approached.

“The elder is busy. We are all waiting in turn for him as well.”

Luthold stalked past and pushed open the door. He entered into the darkness of Oslef’s comfortable home. Hides draped on every surface and a fire burned, as always, in the centre. It was true though, Oslef already had company. Luthold looked with surprise at Aimar.

“Aimar? You're back. Did the mayor have so little to say?” In a way this was a relief. Perhaps the so called invasion was nothing more than a lost scouting party and Scursditch remained completely untroubled.

Aimar looked to Oslef, who nodded and said:

“Tell him.”

“The mayor did not even receive me, Luthold. I declared at the gate that I came in the name of the Elders of the Hallin, and they would not let me pass.”

Luthold looked at him agape. Then his mind raced with questions which he spurted out as they occurred to him:

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“What was their reason? Were they embarrassed, or afraid? Did you wait on the paths and meet others travelling there?”

Before Aimar could reply, Oslef interrupted:

“We’ve gone over it, Luthold. Patience. What brought you storming into my home when the door was closed?”

“Heridan has returned, but not Elder Joturn. They were separated from each other. Sleepers have awoken.”

Oslef breathed in and out deeply, his face strained, then he turned to the craftsman.

“Leave us a moment, Aimar.”

The young man nodded and rose. He inclined his head respectfully to Luthold, too, as he passed him. When his hand was on the door, Oslef added:

“The clan need to know what happened at Scursditch, Aimar, but not yet. I don’t want a panic. Slip back to your own home as quietly as you came to mine and wait there.”

When Aimar was gone and the door closed again, Oslef gestured to the vacant space. He pulled a pot from the fire and filled two cups. As Luthold made himself comfortable, the elder passed the earthenware vessel across the fire to him.

“Take some tea with me, Luthold.”

They sat and watched each other through wisps of smoke that rose in the air between them. Luthold sipped at the sweet tea. He waited for Oslef to speak, twitching his fingers and fiddling with the hot cup. Then, as his mind slowed, he realised how much he needed this moment of quiet. His body settled down and, as he drank the warm tea, he drank in the silence, too. He felt younger, momentarily. He felt safe and calm, here in the old bear’s home. Eventually, Oslef spoke:

“Aimar has brought us bad news, Luthold. Too much bad news and too little information. I should have sent you, as I always have done.”

“Perhaps. We found nothing on our searches anyway.”

“Do you remember why I asked you to teach the letters to the other children, not just your own?”

“Of course. Reading matters ever more in town, so it needs to matter here as well. You want our children to be respected there.”

Oslef gave a dry chuckle and looked at him through the smoke.

“You can’t hide your scepticism. You never were convinced, were you?”

“I never needed convincing to teach them letters. But the mayor’s people don’t care what we know, or don’t.”

“They used to,” said Oslef, sadly. “What do you think changed?”

“As their luxury grows, they look at us and see a hard life, one they left behind and could not return to if they desired it. They trapped themselves on an island of comfort in a dangerous sea that we sail freely. They caged themselves, and we remind them of it.”

“You should have been a Levonin.”

Now it was Luthold’s turn to chuckle.

“You are right though,” Oslef continued. “They’ve forgotten where they came from and why their town exists. It was once just a meeting place, you know. Where the clans gathered to meet the heralds of the king. To have turned away Aimar, when he came in my name...” Oslef shook his head.

Luthold stared at the elder, forgetting the hot cup in his hand until it burned him. Could nothing be relied upon to remain as it was? What could they do, when every rock they tried to stand on turned to sand. For years now, Oslef had sent Luthold to the town in his stead. The old man remained convinced of the importance of those ties. Although Luthold did not share the same enthusiasm for the mayor, he enjoyed his visits there. In the marketplace, he would soak in the sound of voices from different parts of the forest, and he would pick up any bits of writing he could lay his hands on. It must be hard, he reflected, for Oslef; to have invested so much in a place that cut them off at the first sign of trouble.

“What does it mean? Why now? Were they letting any other clans in, or closing the town to all?”

“Those are the questions I know you would have answered. Aimar is too straightforward. He took no as his answer and left. He didn’t see any Virunin or Lujin there and didn’t think to look for them on the paths they would use. He did notice something, though. They’re building a wall of stone around their town. They have men in uniforms brandishing weapons atop it.”

“Do they think they are Westerners now?”

“There will be priests among them before the end of your lifetime.”

“Better priests than apostates. Perhaps the wall was built for Dombarrow. Perhaps they knew something about these soldiers before they came here. Don't you think their men in uniforms might be from the West?”

“Perhaps. Who knows? Does it matter, when they have made plans for themselves but not for us?”

Oslef refilled their cups. They sat quietly again, sipping and staring into the flames. Then the elder gathered the loose ends of his outer cloak around himself, put his cup carefully down and straightened up. He fixed Luthold with a firm look and asked:

“What would you do now, if you were in my position?”

“I’m not in your position,” Luthold replied, suddenly alert. Oslef held up a hand.

“Easy. Suppose you were. Two elders are away from the village and the clan waits on your decision. Fire ravages the forest to the north and sleepers wake a month before their season. Two children from powerful families are lost. The threat of war looms over Seveners for the first time since our people fled here, and our cousins in town - our only means of petitioning the king - have finally spurned us. What would you decide, if you were me?”

Luthold shut his eyes. He tried to picture himself on the other side of the fire. Truthfully, he had dreamed of that position. In his dreams, it looked more prestigious and less terrifying. What would I do? He knew what he wanted. He wanted to order every man and woman to scour the forest until they found his son. But what if he was responsible for their sons and daughters, too? His body sagged, and he grasped why Oslef had asked him this question. He wanted Luthold to understand what he would soon decide.

“I wouldn’t wait for the oracle,” said Luthold, “before moving the village. I would go now, if I had to think of the clan. I would take it south, into Levonin land, beyond the reach of Dombarrow and any need for the Sullin.”

He left unspoken what this really meant. It meant the end of the searches. He felt sick. Oslef reached around the smoke and held Luthold’s arm.

“You know why the elders are so often picked from those without children?” When Luthold did not answer, he continued: “They must make everyone in the clan their child, and do what is right for them all.”

“Or for most.” Luthold’s voice cracked.

“Yes. Sometimes for most.”

“You’re going to stop the searches, aren’t you?” Luthold looked at Oslef, who met his eyes with a pained look.

“I’ll have to soon, Luthold. I wanted you to understand. Heridan won’t, but I thought you might.”

Luthold bowed his head and stared at his cup. He watched the steam collect into wisps and rise away. He felt as though someone had clamped his heart into a vice and immobilised both his body and mind. He felt Oslef’s hand on his arm again.

“I said soon, Luthold, but not yet. There’s still a little hope. If I can rely on you, there's still something I can do.” The elder whispered, but then continued in an urgent tone that was almost a hiss: “I have two questions on my mind, Luthold. Are you listening to me? I have two questions.”

“Two... What...?” Luthold could not concentrate.

“I have these two questions: How can we find our lost boys? Where should our clan go?”

Luthold blinked and concentrated on the elder’s words. He had stated the questions, rather than asking them.

“I... Don’t know the answers to those questions, Elder Oslef.”

“I know you don’t, Luthold, but I need you to know what’s on my mind. What I am asking. I need you to remember.”

Was Oslef another rock that was turning to sand? Could he no longer rely on this old man to speak sense? He searched Oslef’s face. There it was, beyond the worried frown and urgent look, the old strength of steel in his deep eyes. Oslef had some intent, but he did not yet see fit to share it. So be it.

“I’ll remember your questions, Elder.”

Oslef nodded and continued to stare at him. The man’s hand still rested on his arm, where he had placed it earlier to offer comfort. It clung to him now, weakly, perhaps to draw comfort instead. Luthold had little to give. He finished his tea.

“I should return to Ada and Win.”

“Don’t forget my questions, Luthold.”

Luthold meandered home lost in thought. What was the meaning of this strange conversation? He was torn between sympathy for the impossible position the elder was in, and anger that he was about to abandon his son.

He prepared for bed that evening as though he were asleep and dreaming already, oblivious to the conversation between Adalina and Winilind, even when they addressed him. When he lay down in the darkness, he felt his wife staring. Adalina slept.

“Oslef was strange today,” he whispered.

“Aimar’s news must have shocked him. He’s worked so hard to keep our ties with the town. All his life.”

“Win, I’m not sure how much longer they’re going to search for Oli.”

He regretted the words as soon as he had uttered them. She moved in the darkness and spoke closer to his ear, no longer whispering.

“Did you tell him? This was a chance to tell him. He knows more about those things than we do. More than anyone. Perhaps he could help if he knew what we’ve done.”

“Hush, Win! If anything, it would make the elders less likely to help Oli. And what should it have to do with all this?”

“But if he’s going to stop the search, how much worse can it get? You should have told him!”

“Think of Ada as well,” Luthold urged. “Don’t speak of it. Don’t even think of what happened.”

“What we did, you mean,” Winilind shot back. “It did not happen to us, Luth. We did it. We broke the laws of our people.”

“Yes,” he whispered, and winced in the darkness. “We did. And for Ada’s sake we agreed never to tell anyone. We agreed to forget it.”

Winilind withdrew, and a space opened in the darkness between them, as invisible as the air, and as impenetrable as stone. He thought over what she had said and, slowly, admitted to himself that she was right. If they were going to call off the search anyway, they could lose nothing by telling the elders their secret. Nothing except their reputation in the clan.

“You’re right,” he whispered into the darkness, to no reply. “I’ll tell Oslef tomorrow. If anyone will understand, it will be him. I’ll tell him everything in the morning. Are you ready for that?”

He could not tell if Winilind was asleep or ignoring him. It was a long time before he fell asleep himself.