Ysabet stood up from the water skin, holding the wooden stopper in her left hand. “I don’t need to look at the shelf to feel how the gusts are chopping off that wall. If a cross-draft throws Lilt into the shale, I have no way to reach you with ropes before dark.”
“I’ve flown canyon thermals since I was fourteen,” Chaska said. She stood up too, leaving the map weighted by the stones. “I’m a licensed courier, Ysabet. You hired me in Bent Reed because I know air and Lilt knows stone. All week you’ve asked me to rig pulleys, read wind channels, haul water, and draw maps, and then the moment there’s a real choice about where we go or who takes a risk, you shut the gate in my face.”
“I’m keeping us alive,” Ysabet said sharply. “Edris wants Pip, and he doesn’t care who gets broken in the ditch on the way.”
“And you treat every one of us like a hurt animal in your back yard,” Chaska shot back. Her voice wasn’t loud, which made it cut worse against the wind. “Kettle, Tallow, the mouse, Pip, me. Put us behind a fence, feed us on time, and make sure you’re the only one holding the latch. I’m not your rescue project, Ysabet, and I’m not your apprentice.”
