He untied the laces and set the boots down, then turned to his other side and brought out some flattish pieces of bark. He drew a knife, pointing it absently toward one of the nearest trees. “Mganz,” he said, setting her boot down on top of some bark and tracing around it with his knife. “Good for very few things, but this is one of them.”

“I can do that.”

“You will. For now, be quiet and learn something.”

So she watched, silent, as he carved out the new sole from the inflexible chunk of bark, somewhat bigger than it needed to be. From his pack, he took a small wooden case and opened it, selecting a long metal spike from the various needles and skeins of cord it contained. Using the hilt of his knife and this awl, he bored holes all around the sole and then passed it all to her.

“Score the soft side,” he ordered, rummaging through his pack some more. “To cushion it.”

Using the tip of the awl, Amber scraped awkwardly at the wood and the torn fibers fluffed out a little. She scraped some more, trying to get it as plush as possible all over without digging too deeply through the wood, and just sort of hoped it didn’t have bugs. If there was any way at all this day could get worse, it would be with a screaming case of boot-bugs.

Meoraq had found a thin roll of leather, just scraps apparently, and was waiting for her to finish. At her lackluster nod, he covered the sole and held out that small wooden case. “Find a strong needle and a thick thread,” he said, or at least that was how she filled in the blanks.

She’d never sewed anything in her life. She didn’t wear clothes with buttons and if she ripped a shirt, she threw it away.

She got one of the thickest needles and picked out some cord to thread it with. He took it from her once she had and began to stitch, pinching and tucking the leather as he worked around the sole to make a kind of crease. It looked pretty rustic, but at the same time, she knew hers was going to look like a total shit-cake, so she tried to pay attention to exactly how he was doing it.

“Keep it tight,” he muttered, sewing. “Do not allow folds or pockets to form. If you discover one, take it out, regardless of the effort it requires. There is no hurry. Just keep a strong pull and take whatever time you need.”

“Thanks.”

He sewed, silent, until he had finished the sole. He handed it and her broken boot to her. “You will need to use the awl. Keep them at least a finger’s width up from the edging. The holes needn’t line up exactly. Keep the stitching even and tight. The seam will draw up this way, and form an overlap. Mend them both. I will have something to seal them in the morning.”

She nodded and got to work.

He sat and watched her. Not her hands, not the boot, not the tools she was borrowing. Her.

She struggled with the awl and kept her head down, her eyes stubbornly on her work. She ignored him.

“Pride,” said Meoraq, very quietly, “has no place in this camp.”

The wind blasted its freezing breath into her face, and still she felt the blush heating up her cheeks. She kept her eyes fixed and her hands busy and did not answer.

“You have asked me for training. You have demanded it. I have agreed to give it, because you have shown me the necessity and I judge you fit enough to learn, but there is no place—” He caught her chin and made her look at him. “—for pride in this camp.”

I know. I’m sorry. Please stop. Please.

His eyes shifted to a point beyond her. He stood up and walked off without another word. Shortly afterwards, Nicci crept up and sat down.

And for a second, Amber was disappointed. She hunched over her boot again, forcing the awl the rest of the way through the leather. “Hey.”

“I’m sorry,” said Nicci. “I really am, Amber. I’m sorry we fought.”

“I know. I’m sorry too.”

So that was okay. Almost.

Nicci turned her head to watch Meoraq move around the camp. “He went back a few times. To check on you, I guess.”

“Yeah.” She hadn’t seen him, but she hadn’t done much looking at anything but the trail in front of her. And in all honesty, Meoraq probably could have been in arm’s reach of her the whole way and if he didn’t want to be seen, she wouldn’t have seen him.

“I’d have gone back too,” said Nicci after a moment.

“I know.”

“I just thought it was best if we were all together.”

Amber looked at her and although she was okay and she really wasn’t even angry, it was right on the tip of her tongue to say that she’d have never left Nicci behind like that, never. But her sister’s eyes were the same anxious, lost and pleading eyes that they’d been pretty much since they got here and Amber couldn’t stand to see them wet again, not after the day she’d just had.

“I’m fine,” she said. She even smiled a little, for Nicci. “It was nothing. I was acting like a bitch and I got a little spanking, that’s all. I’m fine.”

Nicci nodded and picked at her laces. “Can you do my boots for me? They’ve got, um, holes.”

Amber kept smiling. “Yeah, sure.”

Nicci took her boots off and got up. One of the ladies sitting around the fire outside the women’s tent called her name, waving, then saw Amber and hesitated. Nicci waved back and stood there, looking awkward.

“Go on,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“Beats sitting around and watching me do this all night. Go on,” Amber said again, just like she didn’t even care. “Have fun.”

Nicci left and sat down with the other women, disappearing into their laughing, talking circle. Amber sewed.

The sun went down, and as the grey light dimmed rapidly to black, people began to shake out their blankets and clump up around the fires to sleep. As it got later and more people went down, Nicci finally wandered back. Amber set her boots aside, but Nicci just put herself to bed. And that was okay. They were all tired.

Meoraq’s scaly knuckle tapped at her shoulder. He crouched down and gestured vaguely at her duffel bag while staring over his shoulder at nothing. “Sleep.”

“I’m not done yet.”

“Finish in the morning.”

“I’ll finish now. I always have the first watch, don’t I?”

He kept his head turned, his eyes moving as if he could see some hungry thing pacing back and forth beyond the edge of camp. And for all she knew, he could. At length, and without further argument, he simply stood up and walked away.

Amber resumed boring holes through her boots, but had managed only one more stitch before he was tapping at her shoulder again. He gave her a piece of cuuvash, acknowledged her thanks with a grunt, and moved to the other side of the fire where he crouched and watched people. The firelight threw orange stripes over his scales, broken by scars. They shifted as he breathed, as mesmerizing as the embers themselves could be. He did not respond at all to her stares, perhaps didn’t even notice them.

The awl was starting to hurt her hand. She put it down and ate her cuuvash, taking small bites, making it last. Eric and Maria passed close by on their way to his tent. Amber raised a hand and said good night. Eric nodded at her or maybe at Meoraq, it was hard to tell. Then they were gone.

She ran out of cuuvash and had to pick up the awl again. Her hand still hurt. Meoraq watched her make one hole and then went back to staring at nothing. Everyone else was in bed. They were alone.

“Are you still mad at me?” she asked finally.

He thought about it. “No.”

“I wish you’d talk to me.”

He ran his red eyes over the camp, over every blanket-wrapped lump, every tent and bivy, every person. Except her.

“Say something, then,” he said suddenly. He was frowning.

“About what?”

“I don’t care. Talk to me.”

Amber opened her mouth without any idea of what she was going to say and out popped, “My mom had to go to rehab when I was six and I had to go to state-care. They had a yard with a big hill that had a few big trees and a chain fence at the bottom and the game all us kids used to play was to climb up that hill and roll down it with your eyes closed. There were trees and broken bricks and stuff. You mostly didn’t hit them, but you could have. That was part of the game. I only did it once. Because I loved it so much. If it had been scary, I’d have done it every day.”