I pull at the tattered fabric as I huddle near the fire, my face warm and my spine tingling as the wind places cold kisses on the back of my neck. When we arrived at this ridge, there were more Noor waiting. There appear to be at least a hundred of them, and they have a few packhorses to carry supplies. Several of the rebels are women, as dirty faced and ragged as the men, but also as sturdy and determined-looking. I recognize at least two of the rebels as men from Melik’s village, men who worked at the factory last year. One of them is the man who wiped blood from my face and hands after finding me in the lower levels of Gochan One with Ugur, who had been killed by one of Bo’s spiders. Baris, I think his name is. He is short for a Noor, but built strong like a bull, and he and Melik embraced when they met on the ridge. Now all the Noor have separated into camps, and their fires, fed by scraggly brush, dot the ridge. I tear one long strip from my skirt, then another, then another. Above us the stars glitter like chips of ice.
