Po remained standing on the path for a long time. Finally he turned and headed back in the direction of the island, running at a steady trot, hefting the spear in his hand and judging its weight.

The terrain along the path steadily rose as the band proceeded upriver. Several times, at places which afforded a view, Larth paused and asked Lara, whose eyes were better than his, to look back the way they had come. She saw no sign of Po, or of anyone else on the trail. The sun began to sink, and still Po had not rejoined the group. Larth grew fearful. He should not have sent the youth alone. Because Po had disobeyed him, anger had clouded his judgment.

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?”