Bent-Toe called a third time, and the pale egg struck back.
The tap under the unnamed male's brood fold was so light Jiang felt it through breast and stone rather than heard it. The male felt it too and dipped his head. For one breath, the Antarctic wind, the strange road, and every watching human lost to the life balanced on his feet.
Then white-blue daylight swept across the rest.
Bent-Toe's answer came through the low gate without a tremor. It carried the same full ending Jiang had heard before the blood spread beneath the old penguin's neck. The call was clean, certain, and dead.
Jiang's throat opened.
Pale-Cheek cried from beyond the light. The younger voice broke high, found a lower note, and changed again.
Bent-Toe's stolen call gave the answer that had once followed a different cry.
