The launch failed once before it worked.
Lilt left the outer rock cleanly, Chaska low against the frame, and skimmed toward the breathing arch. Then the singer rolled half a body-width away. The gap narrowed. Chaska turned the sandray outward and landed back beside the marker instead of forcing the approach.
Nobody on shore spoke until she had both feet on stone.
“Again?” Deren asked.
Chaska checked Lilt’s breathing slit. The sandray’s fin edge lifted beneath her hand.
“In a little while.”
Ysabet sat on the reed raft with Pip braced between her boots. The hood lay folded beside them. She felt foolishly ready. The waiting made every tool look inadequate. Her ordinary knife had a clean edge but no heroic history. The cloths were cloths. The stone wedge was a stone Chaska had found beside a boat.
Pip stared at the water.
