The woman introduced herself as Jhevi, looked at Pip, looked at Ashaun’s arm, and asked whether anybody had eaten.
“Yes,” Chaska said.
“Recently?”
They answered less promptly.
Jhevi waved them toward the nearest shellhorn. A ladder hung from a rail over its shoulder. The animal, noticing strangers, turned its head and regarded them through a dark eye larger than Ysabet’s fist.
“Don’t touch the red rope,” Jhevi said. “That’s the chimney brace. It will come down, and my sister will mention it at every meal until one of us dies.”
Ashaun sat on the lowest ladder rung while the others waited for bowls. She had not complained about the bruising above her stone arm, but Ysabet had seen how carefully she moved it.
Pip remained on the ground. The ladder was too steep for its shell, and the platform offered no clear turning space. Ysabet brought its blue stone down and fed it beside the shellhorn’s forefoot. The enormous animal sniffed it, breathed warm air over the antlers, and returned to grazing.
