The forest moved around their sleeping place.
Ysabet woke to the pressure of Pip’s shell against her shin. Not a warning, apparently. It had turned in its sleep and pushed her to the edge of the groundsheet. Beyond it, the little bundles of moss lay untouched. The forks above its eyes had hardened to a cloudy cream.
A tree which had stood west of the camp now leaned against another tree to the north. Between them a gap revealed stars. Ysabet sat up and watched a long surface root draw itself over a stone, dragging damp leaves behind it.
“Do you ever get used to it?” she asked.
Suth sat beside the elk with a cup in her hands.
“You get used to sleeping badly.”
Ysabet eased her leg out from under Pip. The creature gave a disgruntled click but did not wake. The mouse was inside the pouch now, its familiar box empty beside the bags; Ysabet had watched it climb there after supper. A small ripple under Pip’s skin showed where it turned.
She brought her own cup and sat beside Suth.
