“Boat builders?” Yana was amazed: they’d left the forested slopes behind when they’d crossed over the pass from McGee’s and the other side of the fjord was just as bare as this one. Builders of anything would have to go miles for timber.
”More than wood makes good boats,” he said.
“By the way, Sean love,” Yana began, taking her opportunity while she had it, “how many people know you’re a selkie?”
“As few as possible.” But he grinned at her. Many people have seen a selkie. It can’t always have been me, because I know I wasn’t anywhere near there at that particular point in time, and so far as I know nobody else has myerversatility. Some Petaybeans have great imaginations.”
“I’d noticed.”
“I thought you might. We can ride now, and I’d rather we made the last leg of our journey before we lose the good light.”
They mounted and proceeded at the marvelously easy pacing gait the curly-coats did so effortlessly at various speeds. Yana’s little mare kept her nose right against Sean’s gelding’s tail. The pace was rather breath taking, but she wasn’t as nervous about this as she had been on the narrow uphill climb.
Curly-coats could also stoplike right now! Only the bunching of the forehand muscles under her legs gave her warning enough to tighten her hold on the thick mane. One moment they’d been flying along, the next, dead stop! Yana measured the length of her torso on the mare’s neck before she struggled upright. Then she dismounted when she saw that Sean had … and was leading his pony right over the edge? No, she realized as she caught her breath. Nanook’s head was just visible to the right, and Sean was turning in that direction, too, and the trio proceeded down.
Sighing at a reluctance to repeat down what she had only recently gone up, Yana was agreeably surprised to find a broad, rutted grassy road leading down in an easy gradient, switching back and forth down the side of the cliff to the village that was Harrison’s Fjord. This trail had to have been man-made. Nanook, tail tip idly twitching, padded on ahead of them, acting advance guard as usual.
“Harrison,” Sean said. ”He hated climbing, had problems with balance. I don’t know who he bribed of the original TerraB group, but he got the road done and the village settled, the harbor carved the way he wanted it.”
“Where did your sister and her husband enter caves” Yana broke off, seeing that the rock formation along the road side did not lend itself to caves.
As Sean pointed toward the waterfall, Yana was surprised to see Nanook look in the direction he was pointing and sneeze. “Near that, slightly to the left on the far side, is where the fjord cave opens.”
Suddenly dogs began to bark and, while Yana made a private bet with herself, several orange cats wandered up to greet them, lifting themselves to their hind legs to exchange sniffs, nose to nose. She won. The cats immediately moved on to greet the travelers, who had undoubtedly been vouched for by Nanook.
“Wherever we go? she asked Sean, who was bending to run a hand down an orange back. Yana could hear the purr from where she was, seven paces behind.
“Not everywhere,” Sean said, lightly stressing the first word, “but they get about.” He stroked another one and then fondled the ears of a shaggy black dog, with light brown and white face markings, who presented itself for similar attentions.
Going from purr to full voice, the first cat stropped itself about Yana’s ankles, and she had the oddest feeling that she was welcomed for herself and not just as Sean’s companion. She bent to scratch the cat under the chin and heard the vibrations of a renewed purr. More barking dogs came trotting up to greet them, weaving an adroit and skillful way among the cats.
“Who comes?” called a rasping bass voice.
“Sean Shongili and Yanaba Maddock!” Sean shouted back.
“Sean, is it? And his lady, no less? Thrice welcome!
Hurry on down! A glass of the warm awaits you!”
There was no way to “hurry” down, with cats and dogs insisting on sniffing, receiving caresses, and generally impeding their progress. Nanook had leapt down and disappeared, a movement that caused Yana to scrutinize the odd arrangement of the houses: each of the twelve or fourteen had been carefully inserted on an earthen terrace, with the cliff for a back wall, and the terrace jutting out far enough to provide a small garden or yard complete with benches. The houses were perched on each side of the road as it ribboned down to the final broad terrace, which was wharf, as welland high above the fjord water. Boats were neatly propped up on racks; nets hung from racks of high poles, drying in the last of the sun. At the farthest end of this wide terrace there was a large wooden hall where, Yana supposed, boats could be built. But the water looked an awfully long way down to make Harrison’s Fjord a practical fishing port.