Grayer Departs

They'd been some days on the move through the barren waters when Ceto felt land grow closer. The edge of the groundswell was still miles off, but even from that distance he felt the great wall of it hemming him in. It's a feeling that no bull relishes. He tried to ignore it.

"Perhaps we'll head into deeper waters soon," he thought hopefully and labored on beside his aunt.

"Is it dangerous being this close," he asked when he could not stand the silence any longer.

He'd expected her to react angrily, and to tell him that he was a fool - that this was one of those adult things that a child fears foolishly, but he was wrong.

"Keep moving," she said flatly, "These are not nice places."

"Why," he asked with a little fear, "Are there Killers here?"

"Just mind your direction and don't stray," she said without answering, "If we're fortunate, we'll go unnoticed. It may be that these grounds have changed too and there is less to fear than I think."

"What do you remember," Ceto asked.

"The smell of death is still heavy here," she said, partly in a dazed voice, "There were many who died in these crossings when I was a girl."

"Why did..." he began to ask, but there was no need - Grayer went on.

"These are still the only ways down to the lower ices and the summer grounds of old. Those are still good places to fish and grow fat and strong. Just a little to our east are cross currents that would confuse our paths and make this trip impossible. There are seasons when they drift even further east, and we need to swim in the shallows."

"What do you remember," he asked again, "hoping partly that she would not tell."