Pulling Thornsong’s lanky frame on the travois was trivial for Raspberry, but he took the route south slowly as his friend slept and recovered.

The weather warmed by degrees - midway through the second day of travel, Raspberry had already lost the chill in his toes that had plagued him for the better part of six weeks. Thornsong woke intermittently to wolf down a little venison and a little water before sleeping again - aided by a snowberry or two to keep the inflammation to a minimum while his ribs knit and his forearm bones healed.

“Going to be slow going,” he’d said during one of his brief waking moments. “Ribs take forever to heal.”

“They’ll hurt for a long time, but you’ll be up and about soon,” Raspberry said. “Best not to lay on that travois for too long, or you’ll stiffen up.”

The terrain - like the climate - also warmed by degrees. The snowberries and pines gave way to deciduous shrubs, chestnuts, and oaks. Raspberry stopped frequently to stuff handfuls of mast into Thornsong’s pack.

By the fourth day, the pair had left the forest behind and Raspberry no longer had to tow Thornsong on the travois. They walked slowly, speaking rarely.

“We’ll come up on the river valley soon,” Thornsong said, cradling his injured rib.

“That’ll be most welcome,” Raspberry said. “No walking for a while. Just lazing in a bullboat, catching fish and letting the current take us to warmer climes.”

“You’ve been thinking about this cruise long?” Thornsong said.

“Six weeks, at least,” Raspberry said, cracking a smile.

Thornsong smiled in return.

“Got to build a boat first. A big one. Your ass doesn’t look like it floats easily.”

“Almas aren’t big on water,” he said. “You’re right - we don’t float and we rarely swim. Our shoulders aren’t built for it. Water in the hair drags you down. Rarely do you see an almas in water above his waist.”

“And yet you seem eager for a boat ride.”

“Beats walking. And I’m exceptionally well-traveled for an almas. I fear the water. We all do. But we’re not going to be swimming then, are we? Just sort of sitting and letting the river do its thing.”

“There might be some paddling involved,” Thornsong said. “Not much, you’re right - the River Bell runs almost directly due south. It’s shallow and lazy, for the most part. Just as well - I don’t think my arm or my ribs are in any kind of shape for hard paddling.”

“You men - humans, I mean - back in Beringia we had a folktale about why you have no hair. Before it sank, of course."

“Yeah?”

“Back when the almas and the humans were a single tribe, the olds ones said, there came a time when our combined numbers grew too great for us both to live in the forest. The group-that-became-men decided to venture out into the world while the original almas stayed behind. First they moved to the steppe, but the harsh winds blew out their bonfires and mammoths trampled their huts. Then they tried the mountains, but thunderbirds stole their goats. Finally, they settled along the grassy dunes by the sea - but hunting was poor and they began to starve. Finally, a wise old woman among them waded into the surf, held her nose, and reached down into the water. She came up with a mussel, cracked it open, and knew this could be their new home. The now-men took to the sea en-masse and learned to forage for shellfish, how to build fish traps, how to strap together boats, how to harvest kelp, and they grew fat and numerous. But their hair weighed them down and made it difficult to work in the water. So the old woman - the original mussel-finder - asked the gods for help. She asked them to bring the bounty of the sea to the land. And so they did - in great crashing waves that again flattened their huts and drowned their children. The men considered moving on yet again, but the old woman reframed her request to the gods. Instead of bringing the sea to her people, could they maybe grow better at living in the sea itself? The gods heard and split the people in twain. One half moved to the sea permanently, losing their human shape and becoming the laughing dolphins and the ponderous whales. The other half shed their hair and become creatures half of the land, half of the sea. And that is why our word for humans - the mni - is the same as your old word for water.”

“So we’re all aquatic apes. That’s your hypothesis?” Thornsong raised an eyebrow. Raspberry scoffed.

“Old stories, folktales, legends. Sometimes stories are just stories,” he said.

Thornsong smiled.

“I used to think the almas were just stories.”

“What do you think now?”

He paused, frowning a bit.

“I think the whole world is made of stories. Some true, some not, and some about halfway in-between.”

“That’s such a human thing to say,” Raspberry said.

“We’ll be at the river bank within a day,” Thornsong said. “Best start looking for good poles for the bullboat now. And keep an eye out for something big - we’ll need a good hide, if there aren’t any reeds.”

“And maybe some meat for the journey?”

“Maybe. I'm still pretty banged up. I'll have to put together a trap. I doubt I'll be spearing anything big for a little while."

Raspberry clapped Thornsong on the back, as gingerly as an eight-foot ape could.

“Now this is the kind of adventure I like,” he said, grinning. "One where you do most of the work and I get to fill my belly."