His breath whistled hot and dry in his throat and his legs felt like sun-rotted tree stumps as Tavi raced toward the huge fallen log. He’d spied it a fingerspan ago and thought that the hollow in its trunk – likely crafted by some long-forgotten fire – would have made a fine sleeping spot had it not been two handspans past sunrise. He’d left it behind and kept going, but now it looked like it might just save his life.

The trees here were every bit as tall as the great wimbas and ficuses of home, towering into the sky like the legs of impossible giants, but these grew straight and skinny, with a fan of branches up high bearing the needle leaves they’d seen so often in colder climes. The fallen giant before him rose three times as tall as his head even lying on its side with its lower half buried in soil. Loam and moss flew as he scrambled up the gentle slope of soil and bracken that had grown up in its shadow. The fire-black hole in the trunk beckoned like the arms of a parent a head’s height above, and he shinnied recklessly upward, throwing himself into the dark maw, hoping the nook was really as big as it had looked from a stone’s throw away.

He slipped fully inside, trying not to skewer himself on his short, crude spear, and shoved himself against the far wall. He couldn’t hold back a sob of relief as he saw that it was at least a body-length from the back wall to the lip of the entrance. Maybe. Maybe it will do.

Then the huge brown beast was on him, its bulk shaking his little hidey-hole as it slammed paws as big across as his forearm to the hole’s edge, finger-length claws curling into his sanctuary. Its massive muzzle appeared in the sunlit beyond, and it opened its mouth horribly wide and roared. From this distance the sound was deafening, and he could smell the carrion on its breath and see the decay on its yellowing fangs. He was screaming and he couldn’t even hear himself.

In desperation he jabbed his little spear into its gaping jaws, and the tip sank into the soft flesh at the top of its mouth. The roar changed pitch and it jerked backward. Tavi almost lost hold of his weapon but managed to yank it back just in time, though the closing jaws severed its fire-hardened tip. I’m not worth the trouble. Go away!

The beast either disagreed or was offended that its meal was fighting back, because it roared again and thrust one huge paw into the hole, trying to swipe him out. Tavi crowded into the farthest end in the opposite direction, hoping no vipers had decided to call this spot home. That arm was plenty long enough to reach him. He thrust his spear into the thick brown fur as high on the limb as he could reach. The hide was thick and the muscle beneath had the consistency of rock, but his pathetic poke was enough to annoy, at least, because the arm withdrew.

Again and again the animal roared, beating its man-killer paws on the outside of his fortress as if in frustration. It didn’t reach in again, but Tavi stayed in the far nook, spear held at the ready, muscles tensed and breath shallow.

The beating stopped, and he could hear the thing pacing just outside, whuffing and snorting as its killing rage passed into something less urgent but still deadly. Tavi had stumbled onto the creature and its cub in a careless moment – he’d been trying to calculate the depth of the narrow sea he’d crossed with Pahtl and hadn’t been listening to the Song – and if they hadn’t been distracted by the bag of journey meal he’d thrown at them, he’d have died right then and there. Tavi hated to lose the rest of his meat, but letter to live on greens and berries for a time than become meat himself. His father Tenoch had taught him some simple traps last year; given enough time, he could probably catch some rabbits or burrow-voles. Providing I live that long.

He wanted to peek out to see if the great animal was about to move on, but he knew that was foolishness. It would likely settle down outside his hiding place for a handspan at least waiting for him to come out. If it was a hunter like a panther, it could easily wait all day. Let’s hope not. It was eating berries with its little one; I was probably a danger at first and then a prey of opportunity once I had its blood riled. It’ll move on eventually. I hope.

He relaxed ever so slightly, brushing a large beetle to the far side of the space and leaning back, letting his heart rate slow and his breathing recover. You’ve got to keep better watch, little elder. Bachi’s not here to sense every last danger around the corner, and Tarek’s not here to fight the scary things of the world. It’s up to you now.

That thought lay heavy on his mind and bound up around his heart like chokevine. He’d nearly panicked that first morning when Tarek disappeared, and only the sense that the others needed him to be the smart one had kept him steady. Now there was nobody, and he was beginning to realize he wasn’t handling isolation very well. He hadn’t heard his own voice in three days, and his journey meal had started to lose its appeal as he ate less and less of it. Tarek still needs you. You have to figure out Xochil’s moon magic if you’re ever going to keep him safe. There was a long road between him and solving that problem, though, and in the meantime… I’m lonely.

The furry monster outside snuffled at his hole again and he had to stifle a laugh. He had more company than he wanted at the moment. Tarek could have licked the tip of my spear after I stabbed it and just told it to go away. Tavi would never like his brother’s blood magic, but more and more he had to admit that it was awfully useful. Please be okay, Tarek. If I go through all of this and you end up dying someplace on the far side of the world, I’ll never forgive you. Or myself.

Calming himself, he fell into a soft, tuneless hum, letting his limbs unkink and his mind unspool. He could hear his voice buzz inside his head as it sought out the pitch of the living greenery on all sides. His ever-present worries, his endless mental calculations, and all the noise of his own thoughts smoothed down into the flow of a river, leaving him calm, empty, and free. There was the sound of the moss outside, and there the soft counter-melody of patient lichens. Soon he caught the minute vibratory spikes of the fungi feeding on the tree corpse in which he lay, and not long after that the low, almost-silent shhh of the tree itself gradually breaking down into soil. He floated in the Song, letting it carry him, soothe him, hold him. The impossible complications of a dozen melodies flowed together effortlessly, a perfect equation of such elegance and hidden complexity he knew he’d never be able to map it with numbers. It wasn’t thought and it wasn’t feeling… it was simply the Song, and he gloried in it almost mindlessly. It wasn’t as good as singing the Song with the whole tribe, or even a simple duet with Bachi, but it filled in the cracks of his soul and made the world feel less wrong, less broken.

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The deeper he went, the more he heard. Eventually he could hear the basso rumbles of the giant trees standing a stone’s throw away in all directions, weaving together the happy piping of the wildflowers and twining vines and giving him a clear sense of the entire world around himself. The nearby mosses were muted and muffled, their tones muted into compressed harmonics that told of weight, of pressure. The beast had laid down outside, and from the rhythmic pulsing of its sound, it was breathing calmly. He hoped the need to care for its cub would soon drive it back to where it had come from – he didn’t want to sit here all day while it took a nap.

He let his mind drift in and out of the Song as he thought through his next steps. He was not so strong in the Song that he could map out the world much further than he was doing at the moment. He envied Bachi, would could know exactly where he was going, what lay ahead and what lay behind. Tavi could only roughly estimate his location using his memory of the rough map of the Land he had in his head together with his knowledge of how far he could walk in a day, triangulating a messy, imperfect path for himself. He was almost certain that he’d come out of the mists further east than where they’d gone into them the first time, and that his path through the hills was taking him yet further east as he wended southward. He’d need to work his way back west eventually. He didn’t want to pass through the Kuruk stronghold at the Heart of the song, but he’d want to get close enough to at least use the world tree as a guide post. From there he'd circle around to the land between the Tamarok and the Ix so he could head straight down to Yura lands and find Xochil’s house again.

Maybe I should get closer to the Kuruk than I’m thinking. If I snuck through at night I could use their bridges that span the great rivers and save myself a whole lot of worry and effort trying to get across downstream where they’re wider and wilder. If I’m risking danger, I’d rather take the chance that someone recognizes me from the fiasco at the Congress than try crossing the rivers on some raft I’ve built myself. I nearly drowned in the Ix once and that was plenty for me.

It might have been two handspans later when the great beast finally lost interest and wandered off. Tavi gave it another half a handspan just to be sure before creeping out of his hiding hole. Putting a hand to the bole of the mighty fallen tree, he Sang his gratitude for its protection. It was dead, of course, and it wasn’t as if the Song carried any kind of speech or communication to it, but the act felt important anyway. Reminding himself that even a dead tree was greater and more powerful than he could be was a useful exercise regardless.

He'd spotted a healthy cluster of sourberries in his extended immersion in the Song, and he gathered as many as he could before turning southward to resume his trek. The loss of his bag was by far a larger blow than having his journey meal eaten. He was confident of his ability to forage anywhere green thing grew, but not being able to take more than a handful of anything with him meant more time wasted each day in gathering food. He decided to craft a trap tonight when he stopped for the evening. If he could catch something big enough, he could use its hide to make a new bag for himself. Thank the Ones Beneath I had my knife on my belt instead of in the bag. The stone around here looks too soft to knap a new blade, and I’m no good at knapping anyway.

He entertained himself as he went by sifting through the handful of traps his tata had showed him how to make, deciding which would be best for snaring a beaver or capybara big enough for his purposes and then mentally rotating the twist of branches and twine in his mind to see how he could improve its torque and killing power. He was careful to not let his mind become so consumed that he lost track of his thread of Song – he didn’t want to run into another big hungry thing today – but the mental activity kept him from boredom and loneliness as his legs ate up the distance bit by bit.

The light turned golden and he started watching with half an eye for likely spots to bed down for the night. The massively tall needle-leaf trees still stretched upward all around, but they were more widely spaced now, with more normal-sized oaks and broadleafs scattered in between. The undergrowth was getting heavier too, forcing him to keep to animal paths instead of ranging freely as he had before. He had just about decided that the double-fork trap could safely tolerate a third twist on the twine that held it without sacrificing too much sensitivity on the tripline when a twang caught his attention.

He jerked his eyes around to see what it was, but before his head had turned more than five degrees a rustling in the leaves underfoot turned into a fierce yank on his left foot that laid him out flat before hoisting him into the air with a surprised yell. He twisted through the air, his loose leg pulling him off balance and spinning him fast, and then his back slammed into a broad tree trunk, leaving him breathless and stunned. His fingertips trailed through the tall grasses as he blinked away bursting stars behind his eyelids and catch his breath.

I was listening to the Song. How did this happen? Twice in a day, you moron! Twice you blunder in and get yourself in trouble. Maybe you deserve to get eaten! Why didn’t the green warn me that rope was there?

Then the obvious thing occurred to him: this was a trap set by people. He was near one of the tribes. This far north, that had to mean the Hinta. His head pounded in a way that had nothing to do with being stretched out upside down. When he was a child, he’d had nightmares after hearing the Catori loremaster’s stories of the Hinta.

As he spun, he caught sight of a lone figure approaching. He twisted his head to keep sight of the person. It was a woman dressed in dark leathers, her face and hands painted a chalky white. She carried a long knife and had a bow strung over her shoulder. Her face was cold and her eyes were shadowed.

I’m going to die. I escaped that thing just to find a fate even worse.

All the loremaster’s stories of the Hinta said they were cannibals.