At dawn, the refuge’s six doors faced six different kinds of light.
The eastern opening showed a pale strip over the water. The southern one remained black beneath the reed shelf where Cadan had withdrawn his rifle platform. Through the upper doorway, smoke rose from the care worker’s small stove beside the injured attackers.
Iven sat with his back against a sound post and ate what Sann put in his bowl.
She had found another cooking pot.
“This one stays behind the wall,” she said.
“Good plan.”
“You’ll get a proper sleep before you go out.”
“I slept.”
