When she stood up, she tugged at the pot and failed to lift it.
I hurried over to her and picked it up by its two handles. It was heavy, all right. I got my knee under it to hoist it higher, then slid my arms under it.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, with a sad smile.
Movement on the far side of the clearing caught my eye. At first I didn’t see anything. I kept looking, wondering if the keilin was going to appear again.
The mountain was quiet. A very slight breeze quivered the tree branches overhead. She had picked up the flashlight and was waiting for me.
Off to one side, a slow, rhythmic motion swayed through darkness among the trees. A pale, translucent wagon pulled by a team of mules was rolling down the slope against the black of night. It was driven by two solemn Chinese men in q
