We go down the mound of earth, crouching low to lift one of the trunks. The moonlight glints off the planes of Umber's face, highlighting the strain on her features.
"So what's the plan?" I grunt with effort. We deposit the bark on one end, lining them up. I count four.
Umber dusts her hand, straightening. "What you see here are pieces of my plan--were. They were abandoned. You asked if I've ever tried escaping Mount Ilya before. The truth is right there." She motions to the fallen trees.
I blink. "You were going to chop down trees to escape?"
"No. I was going to build a boat of some sort."
I think. "Well, to do that, we've got to consider where we are, whether or not the boat--or we--are going to hold up under days, or weeks, of travel."
"We're far across the Adriatic sea. It'll ta
