"Get up."

  Varek's voice hit the hide walls and every sleeper went rigid. The shelter answered with groans, furs dragged over faces.

  The support pole took a crack from his stick. The frame shuddered.

  "Adults are gone. Fires are lit. You want to eat, you move."

  The flap lifted. Cold rolled in low and mean, river damp underneath it.

  Naro made a sound that tried to be a laugh and came out as a cough. "Morning to you, too, Varek."

  Varek jabbed the stick at the mound that was Naro's legs. "I'll give you morning with this."

  Kelon was already sitting up, cloak pulled close, boots found by touch. He didn't argue. He simply moved, and that made the others feel slow.

  Teshar got an elbow under himself and sat. Smoke had worked deep into the fur. The ochre mark on his brow itched. He pressed his thumb into the seam of his sleeve until the thread bit back. The scratches along his forearm—last night's rake—pulled when he flexed his hand.

  Varek's eyes went to it and away again. A tally mark. Nothing more.

  "Out," he said. "You three. And the younger ones. Siramae's taking you to the river. Fish won't climb into your mouths."

  Siramae's voice came from outside, aimed at him. "Stop showing off in front of children."

  Varek snorted and ducked out. The shelter warmed a fraction. Sleep had already gone.

  They split into the grey.

  The camp wore its day-face. Most of the adults had gone toward the wood edge and the trap lines—Torek's hunters with their spears, Raisa among them, long-legged and quiet, the kind of woman who found paths where there weren't any. Arulan's stone by the fire sat empty. The ash pit glowed low, kept fed and watched, smoke leaving through the roof slits cut days ago.

  Siramae stood near the coals with a basket over one shoulder, hair tied back. She looked rested the way people with too much responsibility always did—not soft, just ready. Varek stood beside her, cloak thrown on crookedly. Siramae reached up and tugged it straight. Varek let her.

  He caught Teshar looking and scowled. "Eyes forward."

  "Try not to scare them into the river," Siramae said.

  "I don't scare," Varek muttered. "I instruct."

  "You shout."

  "I instruct loudly."

  The children gathered in a loose knot—Ketak with his chin high, Seli bouncing on her toes, Raku pushing toward the front, hungry to be noticed. Yarla hung back a pace, watching who stood where and who made room without being asked.

  Varek lifted his stick. "If you can swim, you come. If you can't, you stay. If you lie, the river will tell me."

  Raku opened his mouth.

  Varek's stare shut it.

  Siramae clapped once—sharp, clean. "Eat first. You can't hold a paddle if your hands shake from emptiness."

  A strip of smoked meat was in Teshar's hand as he passed the rack—someone had left a small pile for those sent late. No words, just the expectation that he'd take it and move. He ate as he walked, smoke and fat on his tongue, and kept his eyes off the camp edge where Marlek should have been. The hunters were already gone.

  Varek set off. Siramae walked at his shoulder, basket creaking with cord and hooks. The children fell in behind. Kelon and Naro drifted into their places—Kelon close enough to hear everything, Naro close enough to be heard.

  Naro nudged Teshar with an elbow. "River day."

  Teshar grunted.

  The path dropped toward the reeds. Smoke thinned, and wet plant-scent took over—sweet rot, mud, fish guts left on the bank. Water spoke ahead, sliding over stone with a steady, unbothered sound.

  The bank opened up.

  Racks stood where they always stood, fish split and pinned, the smell sharp in the cold. Nets lay coiled on logs, reed baskets stacked with their mouths gaping. Two canoes waited half in the shallows, their bellies scarred by years of stone and dragging.

  Varek turned and jabbed his stick toward the water. "No splashing. No fighting. No clever games. If you fall in, you don't thrash. You grab the rim, and you wait for hands."

  Siramae leaned in, low enough that only those nearest caught it. "If you keep pulling that face, the fish will swim away out of spite."

  A few children snorted. Ketak laughed too loudly.

  Varek pointed the stick at her as though it could win the argument. "Fish were stronger in my day."

  Siramae raised her brows. "And you were taller."

  Laughter broke out properly. Even Kelon's mouth tightened at one corner.

  Varek let it run until it thinned on its own. He didn't smile. He also didn't kill it. "Canoes," he snapped. "Older ones teach. You don't show off. You keep your hands quiet."

  Naro pulled a face. "So we're minding babies."

  Varek's stick cracked across Naro's forearm. Quick and measured.

  Naro hissed and clapped a hand over the sting.

  "Keeping them alive," Varek said. "That's the job."

  Naro's eyes slid to Teshar, ready to blame something.

  Teshar ignored it and moved to the left canoe—narrower, calmer water near the reeds. Yarla climbed in first, careful with her weight. Raku followed too fast and stepped on the rim. The whole thing rocked.

  Teshar caught the side and held it until the hull settled.

  "Easy," he said. "Slow."

  Raku grinned. "It won't flip."

  "It will."

  Across the bank, Kelon and Naro took the other canoe with Ketak and Seli wedged between them. Naro grabbed a paddle like he meant to beat the river into submission. Kelon corrected Ketak's grip with a quiet word and a look that made Ketak redden.

  Siramae walked the line, checking knots, reading faces. When she reached Teshar's canoe, she dropped her voice. "If Raku panics, take his hair. He'll windmill. Hair gives you something to hold."

  Teshar nodded.

  Her eyes went to his forearm, the healing scratches. "Keep that clean."

  Varek waved the stick. "Push."

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  Both canoes scraped into the river. Cold lapped at their legs. The current tugged at the hulls, curious.

  Teshar paddled lightly, guiding toward a slower stretch where reeds thickened and the bank curved. Mist hovered over the surface in low strips. The sun hadn't decided to be warm yet—it just made the water glare in patches.

  "Stop."

  Raku froze mid-stroke. Yarla lifted her paddle clear. The canoe drifted and settled.

  Teshar dipped his fingers in. Cold bit straight through to the bone. He watched the small shifts where current met stone.

  "Hooks."

  Yarla produced a bone hook and line with careful hands. Raku fumbled and nearly dropped his into the river. Teshar caught his wrist.

  Raku jerked back. "I had it."

  "Quiet hands catch more."

  Raku glared, but his hands slowed. Stubbornly, as if stillness was being forced on him by insult.

  They set their lines. Beneath the surface, fish flashed and vanished. Teshar watched where the current broke and softened near the stones. Where shadows held movement, the bright shallows stayed empty.

  Across the water, Ketak splashed at his hook and laughed when it bobbed. Seli tried to copy Naro's paddling. Naro called something rude across the gap.

  Varek's stare reached them faster than his stick ever could. Naro's mouth shut.

  Cold crept up Teshar's legs until it sat in his knees. The sun climbed. The mist thinned.

  Yarla went rigid at a tug. Teshar leaned in. "Wait."

  She held her breath, line tight.

  The pull came again.

  Yarla jerked too soon. Silver flashed and was gone.

  Her shoulders dropped. "I—"

  "Reset it."

  Yarla's jaw worked. She did it, furious with herself, hands shaking from the cold.

  Raku watched the miss with bright, keen interest. At the next shadow under the hull, he lunged.

  The canoe tipped hard.

  Water sloshed over the rim. Yarla yelped and grabbed the edge. Her line snapped free and vanished.

  Raku shifted his weight again, trying to recover. Made it worse.

  Teshar grabbed a fistful of Raku's hair and yanked him back to the centre. Raku cried out—more shock than pain. Teshar slammed his forearm across the rim to counterbalance. The hull rocked, lifted, and came back down with a heavy wobble.

  Yarla clung to the rim, breathing hard. Raku sat frozen, eyes wide, bravado gone out of him.

  "Sit. Still."

  Raku swallowed and obeyed.

  Teshar paddled back toward the bank without a word. The river made enough noise for all of them.

  Siramae was waiting in ankle-deep water when the hull grounded. "What happened?"

  Raku opened his mouth. Closed it.

  "He lunged," Teshar said. "The canoe rolled."

  Siramae's gaze went to Raku. Her voice stayed level. "Raku."

  Raku lifted his chin. "I saw a fish."

  Two fingers tapped his forehead. Quick. Humiliating. "You saw death and thought it was play."

  Varek arrived with his stick in hand, face already set. He took in the wet rim, Yarla's pale mouth, Raku's rattled eyes.

  "The river nearly swallowed a fool," he said.

  "I'm not—"

  Varek struck the ground beside Raku's foot. Dirt jumped. "The river decides."

  Even Ketak and Seli went quiet. The smaller children stared at their toes.

  Varek's gaze moved to Teshar. "You steadied it."

  Teshar nodded once.

  Varek held the look, nose flaring once as he weighed it. No praise. Just a tally.

  "No more lunging from boats," Siramae said.

  Varek grunted. "She stays on shore."

  Yarla's eyes went wide. "I—"

  "You're soaked. Wet legs make sick lungs."

  Her mouth tightened. She didn't argue again.

  "Raku stays, too," Varek added. "He can count fish from dirt."

  A few of the younger ones snickered and tried to hide it.

  Siramae turned slightly and murmured to Varek, low. "Don't break him."

  "I'm fixing him," Varek said, from the corner of his mouth.

  They reorganised without ceremony. Kelon and Naro kept the canoe work with Ketak and Seli. Teshar stayed on the bank, helping Siramae mend a torn net while Yarla watched the water with tight focus, and Raku sulked in wet leggings.

  Reed fibre bit into Teshar's fingertips as he tied knots. Siramae's hands moved fast and sure. Varek's stick tapped the ground behind them at intervals.

  Out on the river, Kelon's spear struck cleanly twice. Ketak squealed and nearly rocked the canoe. Naro shoved him down with a harsh whisper. Seli hooked a small fish, held it up until it flopped and slapped her wrist. She yelped, then laughed.

  When the canoe returned, the catch wasn't glorious, but it was enough. Fish piled on the wet stones, bright-eyed, mouths working at air.

  The children crowded in, voices rising.

  "Ketak caught the biggest!"

  "Seli caught that one!"

  Naro laughed. "Kelon caught it. Seli screamed at it."

  "That still counts," Seli said, and her earnestness pulled more laughter.

  Teshar stepped back and watched. A small child hovered at the edge of the group—thin as a reed, eyes fixed on the fish with a hunger so quiet it looked polite. Nobody pushed the child away. Nobody made room either. The child had learned how to be overlooked.

  The river slid past, clear enough on the surface to lie about what lived beneath.

  The picture had been nagging at him for days: stones set into a V, guiding current and fish into a narrow mouth. His fingers itched with it.

  He waited until Siramae had a moment with her hands free.

  "Siramae." He kept his voice down.

  She glanced up. "Speak."

  He kept his eyes on the fish, not on Varek. "Fish sit where the water slows. Near stones. If we guide the current into a narrow place—"

  Varek's stick tapped the ground behind him. "What are you whispering about?"

  Heads turned. Raku looked up, suddenly interested. Ketak leaned forward. Naro's grin sharpened.

  Teshar didn't step back. Step back now, and the idea would come out sideways later, uglier.

  "Stones in the river," he said. "A narrow mouth. Fish gather. Less time in cold water."

  Varek stared at him. "Stones don't catch fish. Hands catch fish."

  Siramae stayed still, eyes on Teshar, giving him nothing—just room to stand on his own words.

  "Hands get tired," Teshar said. "Hands get cold."

  "My hands have fished longer than you've been breathing."

  A few of the older hunters snorted. Naro looked delighted.

  Teshar nodded once, as if agreeing. "Then you know where fish sit. If the river narrows, spears and hooks do the rest."

  Varek's eyes flicked to Siramae, looking for her to condemn it.

  Siramae's face gave him nothing.

  Varek looked back. "And who moves these stones?"

  The question landed where it was meant to. On the cost.

  Teshar swallowed. "I will. Kelon will. Naro will." He let his gaze slide briefly over the onlookers. "Whoever wants more fish."

  "I didn't—" Naro started.

  "You can eat less," Varek cut in.

  Children made small, delighted sounds. Ketak grinned outright. Seli covered her mouth.

  Naro flushed. "Fine. I'll move stones."

  Kelon met Teshar's eyes for a beat. No approval. No complaint. Just the look of someone accepting work because hunger was louder than pride.

  Varek jabbed his stick toward Teshar's chest. "You want to be clever, you prove it."

  The bank quieted.

  "Tomorrow," Varek said. "Before the sun sits high, you build your stone mouth. Fish gather, we do it again. They don't—you scrape hides until your fingers split, and everyone remembers what wasted labour looks like."

  The words sat. Even the children stopped fidgeting.

  Teshar nodded once. "I'll do it."

  Siramae's eyes went to him—concern, and a warning not to make it a performance—then she turned to the fish. Work didn't stop for anyone's pride.

  Varek stalked off muttering. Siramae watched him go and shook her head, something fond buried in the irritation.

  Naro leaned close to Teshar's ear. "When you fail, I'll laugh all day."

  Kelon bumped Naro's shoulder. Not gently. "Help, or shut up."

  Naro scoffed, but the ease had gone out of it.

  They carried the fish back to camp as the light ran toward afternoon. Smoke rose through the roof slits. The thorn ring sat around them, ugly and necessary.

  That evening, broth simmered in a soot-black pot. Siramae ladled first for the smallest mouths, and Varek didn't argue. Raisa returned with Torek at dusk, cheeks wind-burnt, their bodies moving with the ease of people who had walked together for years. Arulan listened to the day's report and nodded once.

  Teshar sat between Kelon and Yarla. Yarla ate fast, eyes still going to the dark river line beyond the thorns. Raku hovered near the fire, sulking less, watching more.

  After a long stretch, Raku muttered without looking at him. "You grabbed my hair."

  "Hair holds."

  "I didn't mean to."

  "I know," Teshar said.

  Raku's shoulders dropped a fraction.

  The fire cracked. Embers lifted and died in the air.

  Teshar listened to the river beyond the ring—steady, indifferent—and felt tomorrow's work settle in his gut, cold and stubborn.

  If the fish gathered, the camp would eat.

  If they didn't, the camp would still remember that he'd tried to change the river.