Erafnais was aware of her actions and, despite her fears, turned as well and also looked out toward the horizon. It was darker there. The remaining shadow of the night, a storm perhaps, surely it could not be the land — and the city. That was too far behind them to be seen. One of Vaintè’s eyes rolled back in her direction; Erafnais spoke.

“You boarded in silence Vaintè and have remained silent since. Are they — dead?”

“All dead. The city dead as well.”

Even through the terror of the words, Erafnais was aware of Vaintè’s strange manner of speaking. Not as superior to inferior or even equal to equal, but instead in a flat and unfeeling manner that was most unusual. As though she were alone with no one else present, speaking her thoughts to herself.

Erafnais wished to be silent, but spoke despite this, the question coming as though of its own free will. “The fire — where did the fire come from?”

Vaintè’s rigid mask vanished in an instant and her entire body shivered in the grip of intense emotion, her jaw gaped so wide in the expression of hatred/death that her meaning was muffled and confused. “Ustuzou who came… ustuzou of fire… hatred of those… hatred of him. Death. Death. Death.”

“Death,” a voice said harshly, hands moving in the reflexive position of taking-back-upon-self. Erafnais only heard the sound for Enge had climbed up behind her. But Vaintè could see her and understood well enough and there was venom in every motion of her response.

“Daughter of Death, you and yours should be back in that fire-city. The best of the Yilanè who died deserve to be here in your place.”

In her anger she had spoken as one of equal to equal, as efenselè to efenselè. When you grew in the sea with others, emerged with them in the same group, your efenburu, it was a fact never considered; like the air one breathed. You were efenselè to the others in your efenburu for life. But Enge would not accept that.