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dropped her staff and it went clattering down. She swayed, would have fallen, but Tor had his arm around her.
    “Oh Amotkan,” she gasped.
    “The Great River,” Tor whispered. “For so long I’ve wanted you to see this.”
    Bands of moonlight shimmered on black water so wide she couldn’t see any edges, except one far below, where waves lapped the
     dark shore. Great herds of fish swam against the current, taking no rest even at night… glistening silver specks dipping up
     and down, breaking the moonlight into splinters that quivered and formed themselves whole again.
    “So many!” she said. “They must be huge to be seen from up here. Are they salmon?”
    “They are, and they fill the river in all seasons.”
    She shook her head in wonder.
    Tor pointed downriver. A tongue of land pushed into the water. Ashan saw the glow of a used-up fire.
    “Teahra,” he said in a voice soft as a dream. “See how the cliffs curve round to protect it?”
    She wondered where the huts were.
    Tor seemed to know what she was thinking. “Someday it will be a great village with many huts. Right now, the people sleep
     in a cave—see the dark slash? It’s long and low, a good cave, except for the smell, and a nose gets used to that. The wind
     can’t—”
    A howl ripped his words away.
    The hair on Ashan’s neck stiffened. She’d heard this coyote before. Closer than ever, it seemed to be stalking them. But why?
     Coyotes didn’t follow people. Known by legend as both trickster and friend, songdogs traveled in families. Why was this one
     alone?
    Tor went on as if he hadn’t heard it. “Our people will never know hunger again.”
    Another howl, closer yet. Then eager yips.
    Ashan whirled around. She saw nothing but moonlit ground strewn with rocks too small to hide a coyote. The yipping died away,
     leaving the night air thick with silence, heavy with power.
    Her voice shook. “Why would a coyote stalk us?”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “That coyote! It’s been following us! It’s right over there!”
    She pointed a shaking finger. The howling started again. It rolled on and on, longer than any coyote ever howled. Noise grew
     to pain. Ashan covered her ears, but the sound sliced through her hands and pierced her heart like a porcupine quill made
     of cold stone. A scream rose in her throat. If the beast didn’t stop, Ashan would start howling with it.
    But it stopped. Thank Amotkan!
    The silence roared.
    “You didn’t hear that?”
    “What?”
    She shrieked, “What’s wrong with you?”
    “What’s wrong with you, Ashan?”
    But she could not answer.
    TWO lights blinked on in the night, a stone’s throw away. Fist-sized, pale green, bright as chunks of sun, the light balls
     bobbed above the ground, as if thinking—then hurtled, faster than shooting stars—growing huge—coming straight for her face.
     She saw eyes in the lights—hot, burning eyes—and a black nose, and lips curled back from white, sharp teeth. Coyote Spirit!
    Shoving Tor away, she backed up and plunged into empty air. Falling free, she screamed the trickster’s name.
    “Spilyea!”
    The creature of light slipped under her, a sling to cradle abirthing baby, slowing Ashan to float like a leaf above a storm. A point of rock reached out and caught hold of her robe.
     She began sliding, tried to grab—
    Ashan knew no more.

CHAPTER 4
    T
HIS CAN’T BE REAL!
T OR THOUGHT.
I
MUST BE
dreaming!
    A moment ago, Ashan had been here beside him at the edge of Chiawana’s high gorge. Then, terrified by—
by what?
—she pushed him away—fell—
    Her screams echoed up from the dark canyon.
    “Speeel-yea-a-a!”
    “No!” Tor cried. “No-o-o!”
    Their mingled terror bent the night.
    Sounds from below silenced him: a heavy thud, a clatter of rocks… then nothing but riversound.
    What did she see that sent her backward off a cliff, to her
death.
No, he would not think that word! Moonkeepers did not die like other people.
    Everyone