At dawn they left the birch draw and climbed onto a long, wind-scoured bench of grey shale that curved north away from the observatory plateau.
Ashaun set Suth’s wooden beetle on the ground once the frost on the stones began to thaw. The little carved figure unfolded its six long legs with a dry series of clicks, touched its forefeet to the grit, and set off at a steady, unhurried walk along a faint sheep trace, never looking back to see whether the tall animals with boots were keeping up. Whenever a gust of wind threatened to tumble it sideways off a slick ledge, the beetle simply lowered its wooden belly half an inch and hooked its six pointed toes into the seams of the rock until the gust passed.
Chaska walked ten paces ahead on the outer edge of the bench with her walking pole in her right hand and her folded gliding frame strapped high on her pack, watching the lower valley road for dust or the flash of iron wolf-collars. Nothing moved down in the alder bottoms except a pair of marsh kites circling a gravel bar. Still, nobody slackened pace during the first two hours. Osha limped slightly in her rawhide-bound shoe, her right hand gripping one leather handle of the archive case while Ashaun’s functional right hand carried the other, leaving Ashaun’s stone left forearm free to balance Suth’s notched walking staff against her shoulder.
