THAT EVENING, NAHTAIA, Oren, and Kale came across a pond. At first, Oren wandered around trying to find shelter until he noticed something about the water. When Nahtaia dipped her hand in for a drink, it rippled from the outside, in rather than the inside out.
“We’re all right for the night,” he called with a grin. Nahtaia and Kale looked up from their conversation as he made his way to them. “It’s an Aquinian well.”
Nahtaia jumped up and hovered even closer over the water, searching. “Are you sure?”
“But the Aquinians are on the other side of Jaydür,” Kale pointed out.
“So is the human territory,” Oren grumbled.
Nahtaia narrowed her eyes at him in silent warning.
“These are nymphatic waters,” Oren then added. “The Voice of Apan rested here at some point in her ageless existence. All
