Sect Year 6 · fourth month · night of day 4 · the sixtieth life: a farmstead above a dry basin on a far continent, the girl’s ninth year
On the fourth night Lin lay down on his cot, calm and willing, and let his breath go long.
“Count the fall and say nothing aloud.”
“Long Look.”
Asra went down to the basin before the sun cleared the eastern ridge, the way her father had taught her. Her feet were cold on the path, and she had a rag tied over her mouth against the dust. The valley floor lay grey under the first light. The sky above it had no sea in it, only a pale, empty bowl. Below the orchard the channel ran straight across the land, lined with flat stones that somebody’s grandfather had set. In its middle stood the gauge: a squared pillar of pale stone as tall as her shoulder, its face cut with marks a finger apart, all the way down to the water.
Her brother had not come down yet. He slept on the roof-mat with one arm over his eyes, and when she passed the ladder he called down that she was counting the goats again. She told him the goats were counted already. They had heard the lock on the pen and were shouting at the gate, and the sound came down the path behind her, thin and cross, as it did every morning.
