But just as the group stopped to make camp for the night, Po appeared. He strode toward them at a steady pace, not rushed or out of breath. Instead he seemed calm and relaxed.

“You took your time!” said Larth.

“What was the hurry? A man can’t get lost, following the river path.”

“You did as I told you?”

“Of course.”

Larth’s eyes had weakened, but he retained a sharp sense of smell. He looked at Po more closely, especially at his hair and his hands. They were very clean—unusually so. “You have the smell of the hot springs on you.”

For several heartbeats, Po did not answer. “Yes. I stopped to bathe in the springs.”

“You even washed this.” Larth touched the youth’s woolen tunic. It was freshly rinsed and still slightly damp.

“I felt…the blood of the deer on me. You said to cover all traces. The numina along the trail…” Po lowered his eyes. “I felt the need to wash myself.”

Larth nodded. He said no more.

The place where they camped was near a high, steep hill. From past journeys, when his eyes had been sharper, Larth knew that from the summit of the hill a man could see a great distance. He found Lara and told her to come with him.

“Where are we going, Papa?”

“To the top of the hill. Quickly, while there’s still daylight.”

She followed, puzzled by his urgency. When they reached the top, Larth took a moment to catch his breath, then pointed in the downriver direction. The sinking sun was in their eyes. It cast a red glow across the land and turned the winding river into a ribbon of flame. Even with his poor eyesight, Larth could discern the hilly region near the island, though the island itself was hidden. He pointed toward it.