Crawling was slow going, but now necessary. An hour out from camp and they'd found tracks: one ragged bootprint in damp mud, and muddy remnants on dry grassy tussocks nearby, a muddy confession which disappeared but which confirmed Hevne's feeling of surveillance and indicated the watcher's direction. And it was just one watcher: an intermittent and narrow line of crushed and broken grasses led away.
Hevne had sought and found an upturned, broken stem and run her thumb across the end. Sap glittered wet.
"Recent," she'd said, "Even in this wind, it's still wet. It's close, whatever it is. "