---
"Skyweaver. Stay up. I need eyes to the east. Climb high. Do not cast a shadow on their camp guards. Wait for my call."
"I will ride the high edge," Skyweaver said. "I will not dive until you pull me."
"Silvershadow," he sent a message, quieter, lower, the way you speak near a sleeping beast. "You are near the east line. Find the cage. Do not touch it. Mark a straight line between you and me. When you see her, I move."
"I am almost there," Silvershadow answered. His voice was the sound of a thin blade drawn very slow. "I will set a reed in the sand when I am at the camp. If you step over it, you are too close to turn."
"Good."
"Alka," he sent last, up and up. "Climb above the cloud. Drift. Count. When I call, you fall like a hammer. Until then you are only a cloud."
"I am already in the clouds, ice on my wings," Alka answered. "Call me."
He hit the last lip. Azhara met him there, already strapped, hair tied back, knives plain, short bow wrapped tight to her back.
