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felt by hand that the baby was secure in the sling across her chest, her warm, light weight hardly more than a loaf of bread’s. She’d left the baby bottle on a ledge of rock, out by the fire, and she hoped whoever was watching her wouldn’t take that bottle, whatever else they might do.
    The chinking noise came again, drawing her gaze to the far side of the fire. Then a head, an enormous, animal head, big as a cow’s but long of face, appeared at the edge of the firelight, looking directly at her. A horse? she thought, astounded to see an animal she’d believed was extinct. She checked its back for a rider, but there was none.
    Inadvertently, she lowered her knife. In that instant, a powerful hand closed around her wrist and another touched around her throat.
    “Drop it.”
    The voice came softly from behind her right ear. Sweat broke out along her arms and neck, but still she clasped the knife. His grip did not move, did not lessen or increase at all, conveying his confidence that he simply had to wait until she obeyed. So completely, so imperceptibly had he crept up around her that she stood no chance of fighting back. Below her jaw, she could feel her own pulse beating against the firm, pernicious pressure of his thumb.
    “Don’t hurt me,” she said, but even as she spoke, she realized he could have killed her already if that had been his intention. Rapidly, she imagined trying to twist free of him with a kick, but the baby might get hurt. She couldn’t risk it.
    “Just drop it,” came the voice again. “We’ll talk.”
    With a sense of despair, she dropped her knife.
    “Do you have any other weapons on you?”
    She shook her head.
    “No sudden moves,” he said, and his hands released her.
    She sagged slightly, feeling the adrenaline still coursing through her. He picked up her knife and took a step toward the glow of the fire. A broad-shouldered, bearded man, he wore clothes and a hat of the same worn, dusty color as the wasteland.
    “Step forward where I can see you properly,” he said, and held out a hand to invite her forward. “Where’s the rest of your group?”
    “We’re it,” she said.
    Gaia stepped into the firelight, and now that the burst of fear which had given her strength was receding, she doubted she could stand for long. The campsite, she knew, must reveal how she’d been reduced to the last, pathetic shreds of survival. He picked up the baby bottle. She watched his gaze settle on the sling that crossed her chest and the protective hand she kept there. He jogged up the brim of his hat with his thumb in obvious surprise.
    “You have a baby?”
    Gaia braced a hand against the tree trunk. “You don’t have any baby formula with you, do you?”
    “I don’t usually carry that. What’s in this?” He gave the bottle a little shake, and the translucent liquid caught the golden
    “Rabbit broth. She won’t take it anymore. She’s too weak.”
    “A girl, even. Let me see her.”
    She curved back the edge of the sling for him to see, and as she had done a thousand times since she’d left the Enclave, she checked her sleeping sister to see if she was still breathing. Firelight flickered over the little, pinched face, bathing it in brief color before sending it back to black and white. A delicate vein arched along Maya’s right temple, and a breath lifted her little chest.
    The man touched a finger to the baby’s eyelid, lifted it a moment, then let it go.
    He gave a sharp whistle, and the horse came nearer. “Here we go, then, Mlady,” he said. Decisively, the outrider lifted Gaia from the ground and up to the saddle. She grabbed the pommel to balance herself and Maya, and swung a leg over. He passed her the bottle and her cloak, then collected her meager things into her pack and slung it over his own shoulder.
    “Where are we going?” Gaia asked.
    “To Sylum as directly as we can. I hope it’s not too late.”
    Shifting, she tried to arrange some of the fabric of her dress