Juniper showed up to practice the next morning. But so did most of the cohort. Loclen and Ulo were the notable absences. Loclen because she refused to be dragged out of bed before the morning meal, and Ulo because she wouldn’t be caught dead listening to anything I had to say voluntarily. Andhi and Nii braved my questionable presence, but I couldn’t help but think they were there to report back to their ring leader.

I felt cheated. Indignant…confused.

Of course the one time I risked being helpful it was already going wrong. I shot Prevna a look, but she didn’t seem the least bit repentant for what had to be her handiwork.

“We all want to get better.” Prevna shrugged.

Which was ironic given that most of them hadn’t bothered to try to teach me when we were back at the practice ground. Now they wanted me to help them? My grudges were never that shallow.

Besides, it was odd that so many of them would be open to learning from me. I was sure that at least some of them had suspicions about my background and the rest simply didn’t like me.

I crossed my arms. “I’ll help Juniper, Prevna, and Breck. They at least tried to help me at the practice ground. The rest of you can watch from a distance and see if you learn something like I was forced to do.”

Idra snapped, “Ento and I were there too!”

“Only because you punched a whisper woman!” Andhi burst out at the same time.

I ignored Andhi and addressed Idra, “You were there, but only because you felt obligated to Juniper. I wouldn’t call that ‘being helpful’.”

“Screw you, Gimley.”

Idra and Ento stalked off after sharing one last look with Juniper.

Andhi didn’t take well to being ignored, “You shouldn’t punish us for your mistakes!”

I turned my best glare on her and she noticeably withered. “My punishment doesn’t allow me to be mentored by whisper women. Last I checked you were still a Sprout like the rest of us.”

Andhi opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, and closed it again. Wren and Dera also looked deflated at my announcement. Nii looked like she had just tasted something bad.

I turned on Prevna and hissed, “I thought you knew better than to force people on me!”

She snorted. “There’s no other way to get people near you.” Then she continued, more serious, “This is a basic skill we all need to know. If you know how to do it better then you should share it with everyone.”

My eyebrows drew together. The way Prevna spoke made it sound like what she was saying was common knowledge, the expected way of doing things. But while everyone in the tribe had some basic fundamental knowledge about survival skills, those that were more skilled didn’t necessarily share their improved abilities. Huntresses didn’t teach those outside their group how to hunt or forage better, everyone left learning how to cook better to the cooks, and everyone’s knowledge of healing pretty much stopped at putting a bandage on a cut and hoping for the best. Of course, that last one was out of fear as well as habit.

Then my gaze caught on her once gray lips.

In a tribe, waterhole or runner, everyone had an assignment and duties that went with that. You were a huntress or a herder or a craft person or a cook. A healer. Some positions overlapped because there wasn’t enough to do for it to take up all your time or people got bored and wanted a change for a few days. Healers might not have that option, but the fish cleaners and rock and bone knappers did.

In a Picker band there wouldn’t be enough people for those kinds of specializations. Oh, they might have previous knowledge if they came from a tribe, but it wasn’t likely that a person from every type of specialization would end up in a band. Then they’d have to piece together the tidbits of knowledge that they did have and guess at the rest or steal what they needed. Everyone had to know how to survive to the best of their ability in all areas to make up for the lack.

Which lent itself to Prevna’s apparent way of thinking: everything deemed necessary for survival—or in our case, succeed as whisper women—should be shared, voluntarily or not.

It wasn’t remotely close to the way I was used to thinking about things. She had been big on exclusion.

I didn’t want to hurt Prevna, but I couldn’t bring myself to share everything I earned the hard way for next to nothing. Wren and Dera would probably be grateful, but I couldn’t count on even that from the others who hadn’t earned the right to learn what I knew. They didn’t owe me anything for the lack of help, but, by the same point, I didn’t owe them. Especially when a good chunk of the beggars didn’t even like me.

I held firm as I faced Prevna. “And they all got training from older seedlings I won’t get. Like I said, they can watch while I help you, Juniper, and Breck. It’s up to them if they get something from that or not.”

She didn’t back down either. “And if I tell everyone what you tell us?”

My jaw clenched.

A part of me—a small part—was aching to cut her and her hold over me down. To yell at Prevna that she would be a thieving Picker I didn’t hold any respect for. That we couldn’t be friends if that’s how little she valued my opinions. I held that raving impulse down with the memory of Fellen’s tears and her parting words.

Another part was tempted to just walk away. To not teach anyone at all or tell Juniper that I’d honor my word another time, but I had told her that I’d help this morning and I knew she needed all the help she could get.

A third part recognized that I was hardly an expert on shadow walking and that, eventually, the rest of the cohort would have to put together what I knew if they wanted any hope of becoming fully fledged whisper women. It wasn’t secret knowledge or even likely worth all of this fuss. Sharing what I knew would also likely earn me some needed goodwill.

But it was my knowledge. My skill that I had honed over long hours and…difficult times. It…hurt that Prevna was just expecting me to hand it over, even if she didn’t know the full history of what she was asking. She had seen me struggle with shadow walking and lack of care from the cohort.

And, I was realizing, she hadn’t insisted that the rest of the cohort share what they were learning about shadow walking with me. Perhaps she had figured that what she was learning was enough since we were all focusing on the same skill, but that didn’t change the difference in her insistence now.

“Then,” I chose my words with deliberate care, “from one horror to another, we’ll see if I ever tell you anything else.”

Prevna flinched back even as her gaze sharpened. Became searching. Perhaps because of the way my voice caught on her favorite phrase or my own minuscule flinch at the end as I finished the sentence.

I didn’t give her time to find whatever she wanted to see. I whirled on Juniper. “We’ll need to find another time to practice.”

Then I strode away toward the cliff.

“Gimley!” Prevna shouted after me.

My throat felt dry and tight but I ignored her. I didn’t want to look at her. Didn’t want to know what she might see in my expression or what I might see in hers. What I said wasn’t as bad as what I had done to Fellen, but it still wasn’t good. It still wasn’t what I suppose to say to a friend, if that’s what we were, and I didn’t want to open up my mouth and see what other things came out.

I wasn’t living up to expectations.

Or, perhaps, I was, and that was precisely the problem.

“Gimley!” Prevna was following me, an edge of exasperation in her voice.

I kept going to the base of the cliff before I started up one of the winding switchbacks we had been shown the day before. The paths had been impressive then, I barely paid attention to the one under my feet now except for the irritation of burning muscles slowing me down.

Prevna caught up to me before I was even halfway up, longer legs and more years of constant exercise lending her an unfair advantage.

“What was that back there?” And then when I didn’t answer or look at her or stop walking,

“Gimley!” Prevna sighed. “I’m getting real tired of yelling your name when I know you can hear me.”

I kept walking with my eyes on the ground in front of my feet.

“Why are you running away?”

Oh, she knew how to push my buttons. I barely kept the words behind my teeth where they belonged.

“Fine. We’ll keep walking in the same direction until you realize that I’m not going away.”

I flinched at the way her words mirrored the time she had followed me to the lake at the end of the Heartsong festival. She had been this odd mix of sour exasperation and patience then too.

I made it around two more long corners before my feet ground to a stop. I wanted to sink into a crouch, huddle into the wall, but my pride kept me upright with my fingers digging painfully into my palms.

I sensed Prevna shift and lean against the wall behind me. Not pressing into my space, not tense or accusing. She waited.

“I don’t want to say something I’ll regret,” I whispered.

Prevna huffed out a short laugh. “I think you already did that.”

I didn’t offer an apology and she didn’t ask for one. We weren’t far enough gone to need that formal declaration.

After a short silence she prodded, “What happened back there? I didn’t expect you to be thrilled but I didn’t think you’d…freak out so much.”

I swallowed to try and force down the lump in my throat. Not even Prevna knew the full details of my time with her. Of how hard won every bit of knowledge and skill I actually wanted had been.

And I had given it all away with the edge of my eating knife. Because of a blessing and predetermined I hadn’t wanted or asked for.

Giving anything else away felt like carving up a dried up husk, but the husk was all I had to cling to. The others had their blessings and their training they could lean on. Their friendly personalities and previous relationships and easy acceptance as normal, helpful.

I tried to find a way to put what I was feeling into words, shifting and meeting Prevna’s gaze as I did so. I needed to see her understanding as I spoke.

“My knowledge is all I’ve ever had. If I give it up, it has to be on my own terms, not on anyone else’s. Not yours or even the Beloved’s. Not even if it’s for the best or other people need it. It has to be on my terms.”

Her face warred between what she had been raised to believe and the implications of what I was saying.

“But—” Prevna started before she stopped herself. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, focused on me again. “And if I push you on this?”

Tension coiled up my spine and into my jaw. “I don’t think either of us will like how that turns out.” Quiet but deadly certain.

“Why is it so important to you?” She seemed genuinely baffled for the first time since I met her.

Memories washed over me and I had to fight and focus on her face, so I didn’t fall back into them. Words…I didn’t have words that could adequately encompass what she was asking.

So I asked a question instead, “Why do you look like you’re seeing a stranger whenever you catch sight of your black lips?”

Prevna stilled just at the mention of them. But, in that moment, she looked like she understood.

“Fine. Fine! I won’t press you to share with the others if you don’t want to.”

I nodded my thanks.

Crack. Crack. Crack.

The unmistakable thwack of an Echo’s rhythm sticks hitting each other echoed out over the Rookery. Birds screeched and called to each other as the Echo continued her beat. There was only one reason I could think of that an Echo would hit her sticks without a ceremony this time of year.

To warn that the First Flurry was only hours away.