The small group had rowed on silently, through the night, and at dawn they buried Asha at a bend in the river, on a hillock overlooking the river and the land stretching away. Senhet sang the song that would accompany his mother's soul to the stars, and then they went on.

They put as much distance as they could between themselves and the village they had left behind, and then they stopped and made camp. They hadn't any grain, but the women were able to gather some wild grains by the river, and the chilren found some roots and nuts, while the men came back with a few birds and the traps had netted a couple of fish.

It wan't a fancy meal, but they hadn't eaten in a while, and it was a feast to them. The menfolk organised the watches, and the women and children stretched out by the fire to sleep. There were a few pugmarks of lion, but they weren't new. They heard wolves not too far away, so they piled more wood on the fire and placed the little ones in the centre of the group, where they would be safest.

It was Senhet's watch, and the stars were glittering cold and bright in the sky. He looked over at his people, and counted ten men, six women, including his wife Menaka and his daughter Dushala, and then there were his younger children, the twins.

The snowcapped peaks of the mountains were formed a faint outline in the dark blue sky. He looked towards the great forests of cedar, and then he looked towards the north and the west. He would take his people to the sea. They had always shunned large bodies of water, out of the fear of the flood that had destroyed their homes long years past. It was time to shake off the fear.