The wild little islands that dotted the nature reserve were all the same--miniature swampy ecosystems full of smelly saltwater mud, tangled pines, and scrubby underbrush. They only looked different at first sight. Hawk found himself coasting towards one grubby island at balmy sunset, with a family of cranes flapping along in his wake and all the silence in the world. Then the next day found them running along a skinny sand bar with the sky roiling overhead and lighting searing down through the noxious clouds, reflected in a tense and glassy sea. And after that--they were wading through a chest-deep straight of seawater, from one island to the next, which rustled darkly in the rain.

Hawk kept them both fed on fresh fish he caught in the shallows. Teige never caught anything, but he kept them entertained; he was full of story after story, and he kept Hawk laughing while the night pressed in at all sides for miles and miles in silent, untouched, unlit blackness.

One evening as the sun went down Teige ran off. Hawk saw him go galloping through a shallow creek after a shaggy black bear that was clearly not excited to see him. Hawk yelled after him but lost both him and the bear in the woods, and quite suddenly he was alone. The sun blazed a horrible orange through the trees, striping the forest floor in black shadows and bars of harsh light.

For what seemed like hours he walked through the pine forests, shouting Teige's name. And for just as long there was no answer. Then he turned, and was abruptly face-to-face with a bear standing up much taller than he was--it bent double, blazing green fire and white eyes, and roared straight into his face. He could not help leaping out of his skin, but immediately recognized Teige, who was now crouched down snickering.