The nights grew chillier and the suns moved faster and faster to the south. The animals began to migrate, an almost imperceptible movement in the beginning but one that increased each day. The first frost came and the migration began in earnest. By the third day it was a hurrying tide.

Tip was strangely silent that day. He did not speak until the noon sun had cleared the cold, heavy mists of morning. When he spoke it was to give a message from Chiara:

“Howard⁠ ⁠… last report⁠ ⁠… Goldie is dying⁠ ⁠… pneumonia.⁠ ⁠…”

Goldie was Chiara’s mocker, his only means of communication⁠—and there would be no way to tell him when they were turning back.

“Turn back today, Tony,” he said. “Steve and I will go on for a few days more.”

There was no answer and he said quickly, “Turn back⁠—turn back! Acknowledge that, Tony.”