Mirda said that the summer had been too dry, that the berries hadn’t had enough water, and that was why the bear that had been brought down earlier had been too skinny for this late in fall. Most of the game that the hunters were bringing in was thin. It worried Mirda, and anything that worried the un-flappable Mirda worried the rest of the snow-unicorn people.

Kativa wished it were still dry. She pulled her hood closer over her ears and directed one dirty look at the low gray sky. Water squeezed from the clouds in a constant steady drizzle. It gathered on the leaves and branches until the weight of it caused the boughs to bend and the water to cascade below. The world was full of the rhythmic sounds of the fluid; the constant fall of the drops onto leaves, the slower counter beat of the stored water spilling to the forest floor, and the steady squelch of hooves and feet through the water-laden leaf mold. Kativa’s nose was filled with the smell of wet snowy.

The first leg of the fall journey home was never anything but rainy, but past the range of coastal mountains, the weather usually brightened. Kativa could remember the festive air that homecoming usually contained; that last hand of days on the trail usually involved singing at the evening fires and stories and jokes on the days ride. Laughter was rare this year, and Kativa couldn’t put her finger on it. The summer fish gather had not been as good as some years, but she could remember plenty of years that it had been worse. The weather was oppressive, to be sure, but even that didn’t usually keep song and cheer from the evening fire. Mirda’s agitation seemed contagious.

Mirda was as old as memory and still could gather more roots in an afternoon than two sturdy youths. She had a face like spruce bark in texture and as alive and cheerful an expression as a basket of fox puppies. She was unflappable; a sturdy dependable woman who did not balk at any task, from the care of a cranky youth to the turning of a very full waste pit in hot sun. That she was worried had a poor effect on the people who regarded her as a ballast of strength.

Kativa tried to think of the tribe without Mirda and failed. Mirda had trained her for several moon-cycles, hoping that Kativa’s sensitivity to weather would turn into a true gift for Sensing. Kativa had been touched by the woman’s care and attention during their pairing, and still felt disappointed that no gifts had developed for the old woman to train. There was no one but the one woman who held the gifts now, which seemed a matter of concern to everyone but Mirda. She would only shrug her sinewy shoulder and smile her little half smile when the subject came up. “If there were need for gifts, they would be here,” she would say serenely.

Karlen had stopped near the head of the line, pulled off to the side to let the others pass. Tolnam had also paused and they were talking, and Kativa urged her mount to join them. She directed only one side-long glance at Tolnam and fiercely directed her gaze at Karlen.

Only one year older than she was, Tolnam was almost a head taller and stronger. Where Kativa seemed to have gained only height since they were children together, Tolnam had been gifted with appropriate muscle, and was strong and capable, and was on his way to becoming one of the primary hunters of the people. Kativa was almost obsessively competitive with him, and was also training to be a ranger. Her enthusiasm was not an asset on the path, but her refusal to give up and her clever fingers and attention to detail had earned her a scout’s position on the home journey.

Karlen looked amused at her interruption, a little smile touched the corners of his mouth. He looked like his daughter, Kativa would have been the first to admit it. His strong nose and wide forehead was handsome on him, rather sharp on her. His blue-gray eyes had the same arched brows as hers, and the only difference in their thick black hair was that Kativa’s braids were waist-length and his were only shoulder-long. He was more than a little baffled by Kativa, and though he had tried to play an active roll in her life, was un-suited to being a father. He dealt with her a world better as an ambitious scout and ranger than as an inquisitive child or a fractious, moody youth.

The smile was gone quickly. “Tolnam is going ahead to ready the homes and sweep out the squirrels. Would you like to go with him?”

Kativa thought she heard Tolnam give a sigh of disgust, but wasn’t sure enough to wager a fur on it, and wasn’t willing to unbend enough to turn and ascertain his expression. “Absolutely!” She didn’t try to hide her relief. The tribe moved at the pace of a wounded animal, all strung out over the path, limited by the people on foot and the sturdy snowies pulling the laden summer skid. Her last time at scouting ahead on a home journey the previous year had been a trial, knowing that the people were having small celebrations every night while she camped alone in the woods. Tedra had been with her last year, but spending time with Tedra was like talking to a tree, and involved about as much intelligent conversation and boisterous companionship. This year, though, she was looking forward to being away from the tension and the uncomfortable feeling that the people seemed to have.

Kativa finally looked at Tolnam. “Do you need anything from the skid?”

Tolnam shook his head and water spilled from his hood onto his covered shoulders. “I’m ready to go.”

Kativa nudged her unicorn away from the circle and set him at a fast walk for the front of the line. She had her pack across her shoulders under her oiled over-cover. She always carried a weeks worth of food in dry rations when they travelled, as did all of the people but those like Adah, who was as old as Mirda but more frail, and carried no pack at all.

It took several minutes to catch up with the leaders of the train. Kativa listened to the sound of her mounts tack, and tried to hear the sounds of Tolnam’s mount, behind her, above the general noise of the people and the unicorns. She paused at the leader, Fenan, who walked a laden snowy and was whittling something as he walked. He looked up and smiled at Kativa, who swung down from her mount rather than talking from above, and walked beside him. “We’re scouting to home,” she explained.

Fenan squinted ahead as if concentration could part the thick rain and ridges that kept the destination from view. “I think that’s good. We may not take a whole hand of days to get there this year. We will want to push as hard as we can. There is a bad feeling in the air, and it is cold. Mirda feels winter coming early. Not hard, but early. There is much to do before snows.”

Kativa nodded, trying to think of something reassuring or intelligent, and finally decided on a solemn nod. She smiled then, her flash of white teeth and stretch of mouth turning a face un-suited for solemnity back to a cheerful aspect. “Well jaja, try not to have too much fun while I’m away,” she quipped.

Kether came trotting up on foot from the other side of the train. “Are you two hairing off without even saying goodbye?” Kether was an agemate, and had grown up dreadfully teased by the needle-witted Kativa and the year-superior Tolnam. It hadn’t stifled a solid friendship, though, and the three frequently sat together at the fire.

“We wouldn’t want you to cry,” Kativa said with a wide grin.

Kether’s smile was wide and cheery. “Cry? Because you were leaving? I had more in mind a celebration.”

Kativa laughed, because he had managed a dead-perfect imitation of her voice, and behind her on his slowly pacing unicorn, Tolnam chuckled as well. “Don’t get into too much trouble while we’re gone,” Tolnam cautioned needlessly.

Dropping into his more characteristic open and honest demeanor, Kether answered, “I’ll try not to do anything that either of you would.”

This drew a chuckle from Fenan. “Wise man,” he said with humor, clasping the tall man’s shoulder. Kether was as tall as Tolnam, and broader.

How did you find out we were leaving?” Kativa asked.

“I didn’t,” Kether answered frankly, holding out his hand for the lead that Fenan held. “Your sister Kadra sent me to relieve Fenan as leader so that he can go spend time with her.”

Kativa snorted. “Pregnant women are so possessive.” She refrained from rolling her eyes too noticeably in front of Fenan, who was nearly as possessive of his newly pregnant avowed as she was of him.

Kativa’s snowy shied his heavy head at a wet leaf that crossed his vision, and Kativa was reminded of her previous anxiety to leave. “We should get going if we are going to make the first ridge by the time we will want to sleep,” Tolnam said, as if he were reading her thoughts. It was uncanny the way he did that sometimes.

“We’ll see you in a hand of days,” she said to Kether. Fenan had already dropped back from the train, walking back to where Kadra was traveling with the herbal healer and a concerned grandmother-to-be. She swung up to the snowy’s back and levered herself into the halter at its shoulders. She turned to wave at Kether, who looked very short from the shoulders of a snowy, and nudged the ponderous beast into its fastest walk, a rhythmic gate that ate up the miles much faster than it seemed.

# # #

The morning dawned with a promise of drier weather. There was a brightness to the clouds that hadn’t been there the past three days, and the drizzle was sporadic at best. Kativa finally felt the squeeze of oppression that had been haunting her lift from her chest. Today, they would arrive home, and the idea held a certain thrill. Kativa rolled out of her fur roll with more vigor than usual, and stretched happily. After relieving herself, she returned to camp without lingering, though the forest had a cleaner smell, and she would have been happy to hunt for some berries to augment her breakfast.

Tolnam was already packing when Kativa returned, and he tossed her a piece of dried fish with a grin. “I can’t wait to sleep in a real bed,” he sighed.

Kativa caught the fish, and with her mouth full of the chewy stuff, answered, “I can’t wait to be dry again.”

“Or warm,” Tolnam returned. “I don’t think I’ve been warm in weeks.”

Kativa laughed. “If I’d know the journey home was going to be this chilly, I would’ve brought my overcoat and boots.” She turned her gray eyes to the thinning sky wistfully. It was an exaggeration; her coat and boots would have been drastic overkill for this weather, but the thought of their comforting weight and warmth was appealing.

Kativa saddled the snowies without pausing in her breakfast, adept at chewing on the strip of fish while her arms and hands were busy. Her mount was inclined to be snappy, and it took a firm rap on his nose to get him to stop biting at her fingers once he’d been convinced to kneel. Tolnam’s mount was more docile, and in exchange for a few scratches would have happily put on her own saddle if she had been possessed of opposable thumbs instead of cloven hooves.

“Need a boost?” Tolnam asked, and Kativa wondered if he wasn’t cringing. He was behind her, and she wasn’t willing to turn and look.

She shook her head and scrambled into the shoulder saddle. Then she could turn and look down at Tolnam’s fair head. He looked up, once she had settled in the saddle and the air above his head was free of drifting boot scrapings and clumps of underfur. “Settled?” he asked cheerfully.

“As much as I’ll ever settle,” she teased down at him.

Tolnam vaulted into his own saddle, and adjusted his pack on the hooks behind him. Brushing the clingy white underfur from her hands, Kativa whistled the snowies back to their feet and held on. Her mount jolted to his feet in a singularly ungraceful moment, and surged into a seamless walk.

“Do you want to go by the falls?” Tolnam called from the back of his snowy.

Kativa paused, divided. The path ahead split, and both forks went to the Mountain Home village, one through the low part of the pass, decidedly the faster route. The other route went up, and hugged the ridge of the hill before a perilous downward scramble for the valley bottom on the other side. On the one hand, Kativa wanted to press on as quickly as possible, but on the other… “Yes,” she called back. “I want to see the View.”

The had camped at the base of a ridge, largely protected from the wind, in one of the last stands of leaved trees before the altitude limited trees to the hardy spruces. The forest transformed as they worked up the ridge, darkening and thinning. Underbrush was rare, but the trees had de-needled branches nearly to the forest floor, making passage difficult away from the regular trail, and line of vision short.

The view from the falls, while not the most spectacular vista in the area, was a clear shot up the valley to the bluff where Mountain Home nestled. In the fall, the tundra slopes above the spruce forest were ablaze in autumn colors. The mountains that dwarfed the high slopes were white year-round, and more rugged and inspiring than any in the rest of the range. It was a breath-taking sight, and heart-warming, with the barest glimpse of the dark round roofs of the village.

The morning haze was beginning to lift, and shots of blue sky tantalized the two rangers as they nudged their mounts through the trees. The rare leaved tree was a jeweled wonder of color, and the heavy dew left a sheen of glitter on every tree branch and every spruce needle as it melted in the golden bolts of sunlight that began to dissolve the clouds. Moisture misted from the spongy ground, leaving Kativa feeling a touch unreal, almost as if her mount’s heavy feet weren’t touching the ground; even the sound of his footfalls were muffled in the needle-mold on the forest floor. The falls traced down from a higher ridge to the south. Tolnam and Kativa dismounted, and led their snowies along the rocky bank to the west, towards the viewpoint. The falls were small at this time of year, and the roar of water was not quite deafening.

Around a curve in the waterway, the trees balked from the stony ground, and the valley stretched itself out before the gaze of the two rangers.

The sense of non-reality lingered with Kativa, and at first she wouldn’t believe what her eyes were showing. Tolnam said something under his breath; a curse, perhaps, or a prayer, but Kativa’s ears were ringing in shock, and she didn’t understand it.

The valley was there, as large as ever, but the landscape was alien. The trees marched down this side of the ridge towards the open space, as they always had, but they stopped abruptly, replaced by a blackened, flattered, wrinkled skin that traced the contours of the land as they had never before been exposed. A fire had swept the land, leaving only charred twigs of stately spruce trunks, destroying the forest that had softened the surface of the valley. Scars of Other passage crisscrossed the land, great rips in the surface of the earth that left dust where earth had been, razed to bedrock in places.

Kativa let her gaze swing upward, towards the location of Mountain Home and its comforting round roofs and smoke-pipes, which surely must still be there, in the hollow before the slope to the foothills.

Without the familiar forest landmarks to direct her view, she was uncertain of the location, but though her mind balked and shied at the idea, Kativa was quite sure that her home was no longer part of this new landscape. Her knees seemed to contain no bones, and she tore her gaze away to find that her hands and legs were shaking as if she had run the length of the valley. She clasped her hands firmly together, and glanced at her companion. Tolnam had turned and was looking fixedly at the falls behind them; his face was devoid of color, and his lips were pressed so closely together that they almost disappeared from his face.

Neither spoke for a length of time that seemed to stretch like animal gut, growing thinner and thinner without breaking. Kativa sat down, mindless of the cold and discomfort of the rock, and clasped her arms around her knees to try to calm the shaking. It was more real to think of making herself stop shaking than to think of the ruin of the valley in front of her. She’d lost her snowy’s leadline, but the beast was snatching at some greenery by the water, and un-inclined to wander. Kativa gritted her teeth and looked up again, gazing over the land with such a pain in her chest that she wondered that the spent fire had such power to burn still. Tolnam came and sat beside her after a moment, so close that their hips touched, and Kativa felt some support from the contact. She wanted to lean into him and hope that he would put his arm around her, but she was too proud, and even in the agony of the moment could not dispel her overwhelming desire to prove her independence.

After a long moment, her chest felt less tight, and Kativa began to consider speech again, and could think of her people, nearly 300 of them, now homeless, with an early winter and a low fish harvest. “We need to go back and tell them,” she said. Her voice was high, and not entirely steady, but it was more audible than she had feared.

Tolnam moved, saying something affirmative, and Kativa heard one of his joints pop. She wondered how long they had been sitting there, trying to comprehend the strange turn that their homecoming journey had taken. She wondered how in heaven she was going to tell her pregnant sister that she had no home to return to, how to tell Mirda that her tired bones would have no steam house to refresh at. She wondered how any of them would survive the cruel winter.