Wheeling Gull Isle if you look away, the stars will know, and they will not be able to help you.

Maegi did not sleep well, on the island. It was too loud; the crashing of waves, a gentle murmur to others, was hellish noise to her. Her dreams were more vivid than ever, painting ghastly scenes of things that had happened and things that had not. She woke fitfully each night, several times throughout the evening, gasping and panting.

It was a wonder she didn't hear the girl's ragged breathing.

She strolled through the brush that day, looking for food. She felt no guilt in taking from the caches but not giving--how could she? Mothers were meant to teach their children manners; Potema had taught them nothing. The spiderlings had learned, above all, how to survive--and thievery and deceit were a means to an end.

Before she could snag a plump fish, buried away for later consumption, she noticed faint movement among the brush. The smell of the mother from the Valley, close by. And blood, and. . .something else. Perplexed, Maegi crept in that direction, coming across the brown woman guarding another, a young girl, with two newborns at her belly.

She'd never seen this wolf before. She did not really look like a wolf at all--she had silky fur and large ears. She was sleeping, breathing shallowly. Maegi looked at Reigi, a litany of questions painted over her face.