Once Kiv and the three wolves had vanished into the gray mist along the upper switchback, the remaining four crouched behind the sulfur chimney to divide the dark hours before moonrise.
“Ashaun and Osha hold the high ridge above the eastern signal post,” Ysabet said, keeping her voice below the hiss of the steam vents. “From that cleft you can watch the rope yard and reach the upper tents if Kiv hangs the collar. Chaska, once the evening cook-fires go down, can you slip along the western drainage cut and check the cable anchors on this side?”
“Easy enough if I leave the gliding frame here with Lilt,” Chaska said, patting the big sandray’s flat shoulder. “The rock’s dry along the buttress.”
Pip stepped forward on the gravel, its six legs gathering beneath its shell, and touched Ysabet’s knee with its snout.
“And you,” Ysabet said quickly, reaching with her left hand to adjust the moss-cloth binding at the base of Pip’s antler, “will go down the south drainage steps with Chaska as far as the lower nursery pools. Those half-formed reed-calves and the burrow beast by the outer wall can’t clear the shelves while their joints keep locking. Someone with shell filaments who can feel when the next shock is coming needs to guide them into the side basins.”
