WHEN KILLA SAW the great mechanical bird overhead, she knew she should investigate. The word for such a thing was airplane, she had learned, from her great-grandfather. She had seen a few in her lifetime, but not many. There had been another a few moon cycles ago. That one had fallen, near to where the earth-eaters had torn up trees and dug big holes in the forest floor. Three people she had found there. They had seemed different from the earth-eaters. Only one of them was still alive. Killa hoped the ones on this airplane would not meet the same fate. As much as she hated the earth-eaters, she did not wish ill will on anyone.

This seemed to be the same airplane she had seen yesterday, when she was near the City of the Moon, gathering the healing herbs for her great-grandfather. It had flown over and continued on, in the direction of the village. Awhile later, she had heard it again, going back the way it had come. And now it had returned. It looked as if it was heading toward the camp of the earth-eaters. That would make sense. That was the only place nearby to land such a beast. And though it was still a day's journey or more from the village, any strangers even that close needed to be watched. Killa was nearing the river junction now. It would be but a short detour upstream. She reached the confluence of the narrow rivers, turned right instead of left, and dug in her paddle.

Watching from the safety of the deep shadows, she could tell that these people seemed to be a family, as had the others, the ones who had crashed. The sole survivor she had brought back to the village, a foundling in need who had been taken in, despite being an outsider. Killa's own line had begun with a foundling, after all.

Killa watched as the group raised a curious boat, seemingly as light as air, and carried it easily to the river. The man and boy walked over to investigate the crashed airplane. Had they known those people? Was that why they were here, searching for them? The small woman, Killa could tell, seemed to be of the peoples of the forest, though not of the Munduruku who inhabited these parts, or of Killa's own people, for that matter. Killa's people had once been outsiders in this land themselves, generations ago.

The man, tall and fair, like her great-grandfather, and the boy, apparently of mixed blood, had returned to the woman, readying the boat, and together they pushed off into the river. Downstream. In the direction of the village. Killa hoped that now that the earth-eaters had moved on, others wouldn't get the idea to use this site as a base to explore the forest, especially near the village.

Killa returned to her own boat, a balsa wood dugout canoe. Her people had used reed boats in the ancient days, before they had been forced from their homelands by invaders from a foreign land, greedy men, like the earth-eaters, hungry for gold, the metal of the Sun God.

The outsiders who had come in on the airplane were now paddling downstream. Killa set off after them, at a distance so as not to be noticed. As one who was more acquainted with the outside world than most in the village, she was the eyes and ears of her community. Her animal totem was the jaguar, after all. A strong sign for a woman. But a female jaguar was ever watchful for her territory. And that curious family, as innocent as they seemed, were entering Killa's territory. They needed to be watched. Killa had no choice but to follow.