Torak was walking up the trail, looking for her. He hadn't seen the hunters on the slope--the trees blocked his view--and for the same reason, the hunters hadn't seen him. But they would, in about fifteen paces, when he reached that patch of sunlight where a fallen birch had left a gap. Quiet as cloudshadow, the hunters spread across the slope, melting into wind-tossed shade and sun-dappled leaves. Renn dared not shout or make the redstart warning call. She couldn't throw a stone at Torak without standing up. 79 Suddenly, he stopped. He'd seen the curse stick. Swiftly, he stepped off the trail; and kept moving, getting closer to the gap. Renn had no choice. She had to warn him, despite the risk. She whistled the redstart call. Torak vanished in the bushes. She felt rather than saw the hunters turn toward her. Like well-aimed spears, their gaze converged on her hiding-place. How had they known it wasn't a real bird? She'd added the uplift at the end which she and Torak used to distinguish it, but no one else had ever noticed that.
