There were fish hanging from the ford markers.
At first Iven thought someone had left an offering. Then he saw the hooks, the thin lines running across the water and the woman on the far bank trying to lift a catch while keeping one eye on the reeds.
“Don’t come down,” she shouted.
Safa stopped at the upper stone.
The ford lay between two low banks, its water running clear over a broad sheet of rock. Six raised markers showed the shallow line. A fisher’s shed stood on the eastern bank, with a small fenced garden above it. The woman beside it held a long pole whose end had been wrapped in bright cloth.
Something moved behind the second marker.
A reed-jaw’s narrow head emerged. Water streamed from its nostrils. Its lower jaw opened sideways before snapping back beneath the upper ridge, a wet sound that made one of the pack animals toss its head.
Three more shapes shifted in the reeds.
