The dark canyon wall loomed over the lodge, stretching up until it changed to the deep blue of the sky, pinpricked with stars. Challis lay facing the cliff, curled up in the small blanket, but her eyes were on the thin line of candlelight flickering through the crack along the edge where the ceiling planks met the rooftop's stone parapet.

She lay thinking for a long while.

At some point, Rasalas creaked up the ladder and stepped onto the roof, breathing hard. Challis heard him rummage around for a minute, then just as quickly he was gone, down the ladder again. Confused, Challis closed her eyes and concentrated into his mind.

Rasalas' hand eased the door flap aside and he paused in the gentle wash of candlelight. His shoulder pressed solid into the doorframe as he leaned there, fingers sliding into a pocket to fidget with his stubnicker.

Both of them watched the scene in front of him without moving.

Trent Gannagen sat on a crate, leaning over the low table that took up most of the lodge's single room. His back was to the door, the thin shirt trying to pop its seams as he worked. A gleaming saddle was scattered into separate pieces on the table along with tools and rags and a bottle of polish, and he went from one to the other in untiring succession. Then he gave a small jump and a curse, shaking his hand before sticking a finger in his mouth. Rasalas spotted a needle swinging from a short line of heavily waxed thread.

"Ah." Trent saw Rasalas leaning there and gestured at the chaos, speaking past the finger still in his mouth. "Well, it's a start."

Even if her ear hadn't been pressed down against the wood planks, Challis could hear every word from below. She watched as Rasalas slid past the table, tossing down a small bundle that Challis hadn't noticed he was carrying. He sat against the wall with a groan, and Challis' body up on the roof stiffened with pain. A score of aches and injuries were fighting for Rasalas' attention. Even the slightest turning of his head triggered a tenderness at his throat as if he'd been bruised there. A vague image of Lakko came and went, a memory more than a sight, and Challis focused on what was happening.

Their father unrolled the bundle, glanced inside briefly, and stood up to place it inside the crate.

"Low on bandage tape."

"Mm-hm."

On the outside of the wall, a goat grunted and brayed as someone scolded and tugged at it. The sounds moved on to be replaced by the rolling rush of winds that swept down the canyon walls. Candlelight fluttered.

"Did you register yet?" "Mm-hm." Then, "Challis did."

Rasalas rolled forward to scoop up the saddle on one arm, and he found the needle. Challis marveled at the clarity of his sight, in which every stitch of the dark thread showed up clearly against the smooth curve of the saddle's edge. He sat back and finished the seam with the kind of concentration that purposely held back an avoided conversation.

"You both alright?" the other asked finally.

Rasalas nodded and kept working. He tied off the knot with a jerk, and Trent leaned forward to take the needle. His voice was quiet.

"Then what's bothering you?"

The saddle clattered back onto the table. Rasalas snatched a water canteen, and the view spun up toward the ceiling as he gulped down the whole thing. Challis jumped out of his mind, the eerie sensation of muscles in her throat moving and swallowing even though nothing was actually there. She knew that Rasalas knew she was in his head, and wondered if he'd done that on purpose. But no – she hadn't yet told him that she was getting more, much more, than just his eyesight nowadays. The thought made Challis break into something of a cold sweat. If she told him that, he would take any measures he could whenever he got annoyed by her doubleminding. Chewing and swallowing or biting his nails, she realized, would be the least of his harmless revenges.

But, she was too tired to actually go down into the room herself. Besides, it was fascinating to experience a deeper voice rumbling through larger vocal cords, and the different breathing pattern of perhaps less healthy lungs. The shirt was tight on his shoulders, and Challis couldn't get used to the feeling of a bigger, thicker sturdiness everywhere as if she had bricks for limbs. And it was just a little bit addicting. Challis stubbornly pushed back into her brother's mind just as he finished drinking down the canteen. He finished with a gasp and leaned forward to meet his father's gaze.

"We can't train," he said. "They're leaving in a week."

Trent frowned. "Interesting. I thought Agent Haske said…"

"He did. But his brother, who's also here with the FHF, said that changed," Rasalas went on, voice lilting in exasperation. "Something about the maccotons moving. Here we were, all set to go, and they switch it up on a whim."

The other considered. "Why did Challis sign you up then?"

"I don't think she knows. And there's no stopping her anyway." Challis felt a deep, swelling pain in her – his – throat from all the talking.

"True." Trent began polishing the saddle, wiping cleanly between the folds in the leather. It was a pterosaur saddle, of course, the flexible structure designed to sit comfortably between two winged joints and keep the handler secure in the air. He carefully reattached the long harness straps hanging over the edge of the table, and the safety line, the only piece that connected to the rider. "So, this other FHF man. You get in a fight with him?"

"Sir?"

His father gave a significant glance to his bandaged arms, and Rasalas shifted. "Not exactly." Challis felt his ears heat up, though no one could tell in the candlelight below.

"Because if patrolmen come to get you, I can't bail you out this time," Trent said resignedly. "We can't afford it, son."

"I know." Rasalas picked up the safety line and ran it through his hands. Through his rough fingers, Challis could feel the strength of the small tether, though it could be sliced easily enough with a blade if necessary. He coiled it up and put it back.

"Well, his father sighed. "I'm sorry that it's not going to work out for you. You might consider talking to that Agent Haske again anyway."

"Maybe. There's got to be some way. We just have so few options."

"For work?"

"For everything."

"Well," Trent straightened slowly, his eyes on the table. "Maybe for your sister. But not for you."

Rasalas snorted. Then, he leaned his head back to stare up at the plank ceiling. Challis knew he was looking right at the spot where she lay. "I can't do that to her."

"Rasalas," Trent said carefully, gathering up tools from the table. "There are things that she could do, quite well, that you couldn't. There's nothing wrong with taking separate paths for a while." He held up a hand in a mollifying gesture. "Listen. You're both adults, and I'm not going to tell you what to decide."

"But I can't ­–" Rasalas pushed himself to his feet and pocketed his fists. "She, uh," he began thickly, "I need her around. Especially with other people. I just get so –" He snapped his head back on the wall, and Challis grimaced at the sharp sensation.

Trent waited patiently before pushing. "So what? Angry?"

Rasalas closed his eyes, and both twins stared at the black for a long moment. Then he took a soft breath and said, "Forgetful."

Silence filled the lodge and dug into the bones. A long creak came as Trent sat back on the crate.

"Is it getting worse?" he asked finally.

Challis couldn't tell with his eyes closed, but Rasalas could have nodded. Or shaken his head. The neck movement was too subtle, and she was starting to get a headache. She released herself from his mind and stared for a long breath out at the cliff.

Then conversation began again. She tapped back in.

"You realize how dangerous that can be," her father was saying. Rasalas was sitting back on the floor, rubbing an aching thigh.

"Yes, sir. That's why I need Challis to handle situations for both of us sometimes. People can't know, or else I don't have a chance of getting hired anywhere. I can't tell you how many times Forge horsewhipped me for something I didn't finish, or forgot about, and then again for acting like it never happened."

Challis returned to her own head and turned to look up at the sky. Of course, his memory was getting worse. Specifically, his episodic memory of events. Certain occurrences or interactions were more and more easily fuzzed around the edges, if not erased completely. What did he expect? If anyone else ran on as little sleep as he had over the last four months, episodic memory would be the least of their problems. It was a wonder that, aside from more frequent bouts of violence, Rasalas didn't show more signs of sleep deprivation. Challis remembered the surprising alertness that she had gotten a taste of with Lakko's tripwire in the stable. It had been a stimulant. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The idiot. The absolute jackhole. It was all coming together.

She clicked back into his mind. Candlelight filled her vision again, dancing shadows, and an unmistakable feeling of irritation.

"Chall!" Rasalas shouted. In the silence, and from beneath the boards directly under her head, it burst out like a gunshot. She jumped almost out of her blanket. "Will you cut that out?" he hollered. "Make up your mind."

After a guilt-ridden minute of consideration, Challis rolled out of the blanket and felt her way down the ladder. She stepped inside the lodge and plunked down on the nearest crate. The room was almost too warm after the fresh openness of the rooftop.

Rasalas couldn't help grinning, and when she looked over, he raised his eyebrows innocently at her.

"How nice of you to join us."

Challis winked, picked up a rag and one of the buckles off the table, and began polishing so her hands had something to do. In her vision overlay, Rasalas had looked up at their father and the two of them were mouthing words back and forth.

She cleared her throat. "Horses."

The others stopped, and silence reigned. Challis sat there and waited for it to sink in.

Rasalas turned to her, confusion in his tone. "Horses?" Then he blinked, eyes widening in realization, and delight. "Horses. Chall, you're a genius." The expression held for a moment, then dropped into a scowl. "Wait. Horses."

Challis nodded.

He gave her a flat look. "I thought you hated them."

"Yes, but…"

"Are you nuts?"

"Will the two of you," their father interrupted, rising to his feet and lifting a hand toward each of them, "pause just for a minute. What about horses?"

Rasalas took a breath, though he kept his eyes on his sister. "Agent Haske said that the expedition would mostly comprise of horses and riders. We can still go. Hell, we were all set on thrikes, but that's not an option anymore. The question is, Chall," he went on suspiciously, "could you handle it?"

Challis glanced at her father and then away. After a deep pause, she stood and opened the crate to pull out a packet. It was stuffed full of the Gannagens' bill notices, with the swirling symbol of the Cormellican Institute peeking out on top. Challis tossed it at her brother. It almost hit him in the head, but he managed to catch it.

"Because of those," Challis said, "I have to."

Rasalas leaned back, nodding slowly at her in approval. He could see her thoughts on her face. They would take on the expedition after all, and maybe they were enough of nobodies that nobody would stop them.

Trent held out a hand, and his son tossed him the packet as if he had been expecting to. The still unpaid bills inside dated as far back as three years ago, with the interest rates spelled out neatly on every notice. He closed it again and ran his hand along the edge. His voice was quiet.

"Maccotons."

The other two let him savor the idea. And for the first time, the first real time in six long years, something like hope warmed the emptiness between them.

Rasalas jumped up and dove at Challis, sweeping her up in a fierce hug to spin her in a circle. Laughter filled the little lodge. When the twins finally plopped breathlessly back onto the crate, Rasalas gave his sister a lopsided, secretive smile.

"You're out of your mind," he said. "But I'm still with you."