She let her eyes open again and that was when she saw the creature.
At first she thought she must be mistaken, that the shadows were playing tricks on her. But there was sufficient light for her to trust what she was seeing. It crouched motionless on a shelf of rock several feet behind Garth. It was small, barely a dozen inches high, she guessed, although it was hard to be certain when it was hunched down that way. It had large, round eyes that stared fixedly and huge ears pointing off a tiny head with a fox face. It had a spindly body and looked vaguely spiderlike at first glance—so much so that Wren had to fight down a moment’s revulsion as she recalled the encounter with the Wisteron. But it was small and helpless looking, and it had tiny hands and feet like a human. It stared at her, and she stared back. She knew instinctively that the odd creature had chosen this cleft as a hiding place just as they had. It had frozen in place to avoid being seen, but now it was discovered and was trying to decide what to do.
Wren smiled and kept still. The creature watched, eyes searching. Casually Wren caught Garth’s attention, brought her hands up slowly, and told him what was going on. She asked him to ease over next to her. He did so, and they sat together studying the creature. After a while, Wren reached into her pack and extracted a few scraps of food. She took a bite of some cheese and passed what remained to Garth. The big man finished it. The creature’s tongue licked out.
“Hello, little one,” Wren said softly. “Are you hungry?”
The tongue reappeared.
“Can you talk?”
No response. Wren leaned forward with a bit of cheese. The creature did not move. She eased a little closer. The creature stayed motionless. She hesitated, not certain what to do next. When the creature still did not move, she stretched out her hand cautiously and gently tossed the cheese toward the ledge.
Faster than the eye could follow, the creature’s hand shot out and caught the cheese in midair. After hauling in its catch, the creature sniffed it, then gobbled it down.
“Hungry indeed, aren’t you?” Wren whispered.
There was a shuffling at the entrance to their hiding place.
The creature on the rock vanished instantly into the shadows. Wren and Garth turned, swords drawn.
“Hhrrrrgghh,” Stresa muttered as he eased slowly into view, puffing and grunting. “Demon wouldn’t give up the hunt. Ffphtt. Took much longer than I thought to lose it.” He shook his quills until they rattled.
“Are you all right?” Wren asked.
The Splinterscat bristled. “Of course I’m all right. Do you see anything wrong with me? Ssstttt! I’m winded, that’s all.”
Wren glanced furtively at the ledge. The strange creature was back again, watching.
“Can you tell me what that is?” she asked, nodding in the direction of the creature.
Stresa peered into the gloom and then snorted. “Ssspptt. That’s just a Tree Squeak! Completely harmless.”
“It looks frightened.”
The Splinterscat blinked. “Tree Squeaks are frightened of everything. That’s what keeps them alive. That and their quickness. Fastest things on Morrowindl. Smart, too. Smart enough not to let themselves get trapped. You can be certain there is another way out of this crevice or this one wouldn’t even be here. Rrrwwlll. Look at it stare. Seem? to have taken an interest in you.”
Wren kept her eyes on the little creature. “Did the Elves make the Tree Squeaks, too?”
Stresa settled himself comfortably in place, paws tucked in. “The Tree Squeaks were always here. But the magic has changed them like everything else. See the hands and feet? Used to be paws. They communicate, too. Watch.”
He made a small chirping sound. The Tree Squeak cocked its head. Stresa tried again. This time the Tree Squeak responded, a soft, low squeaking.
Stresa shrugged. “It’s hungry.” The Splinterscat lost interest, his blunt head lowering onto its forepaws. “We’ll rest until midday, then go on. The demons sleep when its hottest. Best time for us to be about.”
His eyes closed, and his breathing deepened. Garth glanced purposefully at Wren and settled back as well, finding a smooth spot amid the rough edges of the lava rock. Wren was not ready to sleep. She waited a bit, then reached into her pack for another chunk of cheese. She nibbled at it while the Tree Squeak watched, then gently eased across the floor of the crevice until she had closed the distance between them. When she was no more than an arm’s length away, she broke off a bit of the cheese and held it out to the Tree Squeak. The little creature took it gingerly and ate it.
A short time later the Tree Squeak was curled up in her lap. It was still there when she finally fell asleep.
Garth’s hand on her shoulder, firm and reassuring, brought her awake again. She blinked and glanced about. The Tree Squeak was back on its ledge, watching. Garth signed that it was time to go. She rose cautiously in the cleft’s narrow confines and pulled on her pack. Stresa waited by the entrance, quills spread, sniffing the air. It was hot within their shelter, the air still and close.
She looked around briefly to where the Tree Squeak crouched. “Goodbye, little one,” she called softly.
Then they moved out of the darkness and into the misty light. Midday had come and gone while they slept. The vog that shrouded the valley seemed denser than before, its smell sulfuric and rank, and its taste gritty with ash and silt. Heat from Killeshan’s core rose through the porous rock and hung stubborn and unmoving in the air, trapped within the valley’s windless expanse as if captured in a kettle. The mist reflected whitely the diffused sunlight, causing Wren to squint against its glare Shadowy stands of acacia rose against the haze, and ribbons of black lava rock disappeared into other worlds.
Stresa took them forward, making his way cautiously through the vog’s murk, angling from one point to the next, sniffing as he went. The day had gone uncomfortably silent. Wren listened suspiciously, remembering that Stresa had said the demons would sleep now, mistrusting the information all the same. They worked their way deeper into the valley’s bowl, past islands of jungle grown thick with vines and grasses, down ridges and drops carpeted with scrub, and along the endless strips of barren, crusted lava rock that unraveled like black bands through the mist.
The afternoon wore quickly on. In the haze about them, nothing moved. There were things out there, Wren knew—she could feel their presence. There were creatures like the one that had almost caught them that morning and others even worse. But Stresa seemed aware of where they were and made certain to avoid them, leading his charges on, confident in his choice of paths as he picked his way through the treacherous maze. Everything shifted and changed as they went, and there was a sense of nothing being permanent, of the whole of Morrowindl being in continual flux. The island seemed to break apart and reform about them, a surreal landscape that could be anything it wished and was not bound by the laws of nature that normally governed. Wren grew increasingly uneasy, used to the dependable terrain of plains and mountains and forests, to the sweep of country not hemmed about by water and settled upon a furnace that could open on a whim and consume everything that lived on it. Killeshan’s breath steamed through fissures in the lava rock, small eruptions that stank of burning rock and gases and left shards of debris to drift upon the air. Incongruous amid the lava rock and weeds, isolated clusters of flowering bushes grew, fighting to survive against the heat and ash. Once, Wren thought to herself, this island must have been very beautiful, but it was difficult to imagine it so now.