"How far yet?" was what Sasha had wanted to know of Eveshka when they had first set out from the leshy's grove; and Eveshka had said she was not sure of that. "Is your father even alive?" Sasha had asked next. " Can you tell?" Eveshka had not been sure of that either: she had confessed as much, evading his eyes, then quickly slipped away to take the lead—moving not as she had, as a wraith which had no need of paths, but with a sure woodcraft which still kept her out of their reach. She clearly had no wish to sit at their fireside when they had stopped for the night, either; nor did she seem to need their food. No, she answered distantly when Sasha offered, after which she rose and walked away to the little spring-fed rill that gave them water. Again, Sasha noted uneasily—water. They had a stew of fish and the early mushrooms and fern-heads that Eveshka had found and assured them were wholesome to eat. Sasha looked with new misgivings at the supper he was cooking, and again with misgivings at Pyetr gazing after Eveshka. "I'm not so sure about these mushrooms," Sasha said. Pyetr said, distantly, "Does she need to poison us?" One supposed not.
