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Twice the hum under the ground got in the way of the drink the stones were trying to take. Twice the leader adjusted his tongue against the bead and got most of the swallow anyway. Professionals make compromises and call them plans.
They closed. Thea opened. She split her remaining people into four groups and made each four a problem that could not be solved by the same answer. Two went high and cut branches to fall behind them in patterns that looked like storms had been bored in exactly the wrong places. Two went low and laid scent ropes braided with sap; predators would love them. Men who didn't know better would hate them. Assassins who did know better would waste two breaths hating themselves for almost loving them. The old woman second kept three nettle-balls in her fist and spent them like coins on noses that needed to stop knowing the truth.
