I lie awake most of the night on my makeshift bed of moss and leaves, listening to distant voices. The fire of our companions is visible through the tree trunks. The smell of roasting meat and the pitch of animated conversation waft toward me on the gentle breeze. For all its allure, both just leave me feeling emptier.

I know I should join them—I am famished and the trek ahead will require much of both my mind and body—but it seems wrong to celebrate when my heart is full of mourning.

Teak makes his way to camp some time after sunset and provides me with my share of the day's conquests. I eat half-heartedly and toss the rest to the Incarnates, who manage it with less indecision. Wart and the tabby squabble with an almost sibling-like rivalry. It lightens the mood but not nearly enough.

My stomach churns at the thought of my family behind those walls. In all likelihood, they are faring better than I have. They have a home. They have food. They have each other. Surely my absence has less effect on them than theirs has on me. I take solace in knowing that they are safe with me and the Incarnates gone.

Teak falls asleep quickly, and I envy his empty, dreaming mind. The others stay awake late into the night. I see Köv, Agan, and Mab make camp nearby. They fashion a shelter of sticks and blankets. The murmur of conversation attracts my attention, though I can hardly make out a word of it.

In view of everything, it shouldn't matter, but it pains me to see Mab fall asleep in his arms.

We rise before the sun, Mab urging us through our preparations. For reasons I cannot fathom, she seems all too ready to be rid of this place. Only once our party is trudging through the underbrush, well away from the walls of Balai, does she relax.

Köv sticks close by her side, catching her every time she stumbles. Eventually another traveler takes pity and offers her his horse, which she gratefully accepts. Köv walks beside her, his hand on her ankle, from which (I note with some satisfaction) she kicks immediately free.

Years of working on the farm have prepared me for this toil. It is the first time I feel at an advantage against my peers. My feet are steady, my arms strong. While the others trip and pant, I navigate with ease. The morning air is refreshing, cold and clear in my lungs. I begin to appreciate this for the adventure that it is.

Inte. Could it really be my true home? If nothing else, it will be nice to see a people who look like me. In the village, there was no variety beyond the occasional traveler. The depths of my heart begin to hope, where my mind cannot intervene, that I will find my real family.

No one can replace Enos or Corsa... their generosity, their unflagging devotion. No siblings could compare to the twins in all of their exuberance. But I wonder if there could be others. People who will understand me without excuse or explanation.

Could such a thing exist?

When we arrive at the stream, we dutifully fill our canteens. Some take the opportunity to wash their face and hands. Agan's hawk flies ahead, reporting back on the obstacles to come. Tiva scrounges for breakfast in some bushes.

I wander closer to Köv and Mab, who seem to have been inseparable since the exile. I am surprised to see that she seems relieved by the intrusion. Köv frowns as she breaks away from him to take my arm. She suggests that we talk by the stream, and I oblige in spite of my feelings of betrayal from the night prior.

Mab seems her usual self, calm and confident, but beneath the surface lurks something else. I reach for it, and she shies. The hurt in me makes it easy to change tactics.

"Seems you and Köv have been getting on," I observe, voice thick with accusation. She shoots me a dangerous look before relenting.

"It's not like that. He's... looking out for me."

"I thought you didn't need anyone to look out for you."

These latest developments seem so unlike her that I can't help but feel as if everything before was a lie. I have no right feeling this way—there was nothing between us but a few whispered ideals—yet I feel justified in holding her to her words. Where is the girl who hated his avarice? Would she really abandon her convictions for some company?

"I thought you were braver than that." It's a cheap shot, but I feel cheap. From the look on her face, the words have had their desired effect.

"You have no idea what you're talking about, Kalyn." Her words are venom, but I can't be stung by them any more than I already have been by her actions. I feel triumphant as she stalks back to her supposed protector.