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Salvage for the machine gods.
    She once asked Karoc how old it was. The shaman bowed his head and stared down. When he looked back up, his eyes were sad. “Older than any can remember.”
    The way he answered the question seemed so sad to her. As if he wanted nothing more than to see it. Whatever it was.
    “Home,” she whispered, and immediately regretted it.
    The fire in her ribs wasn’t gone and reminded her she hadn’t just fallen asleep. Which meant that Sabot really was dead and Samson gone.
    She turned her head slowly. The exile huddled close to the ground. His eyes were on the camp below. His ears perked high, his nose sucked in giant breaths. But most telling were his lips, they quivered.
    He hadn’t noticed that she was awake.
    Who is he? She wanted to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.
    A low growl sounded and Samson bounded over the chalk colored scree.
    The exile scrambled to his feet. Rocks clattered down the slope. In two great leaps he was over the ridge line and gone.
    Denali tried to speak but the great fire in her chest held her tight. She could hear howls and a great bellowing from the camp below. Someone had seen them.
    Samson stopped with his teeth bared and blood still on his snout. His eyes were hard and flinty like pits of polished granite. He leaned close to Denali. His breath was hot and smelled of blood. “You,” he snarled.
    Denali tensed up and wanted to close her eyes. She knew the marauders would be up to investigate the rockslide, but Samson could do anything until then.
    “You lured us out there, we tried to save you, Sabot tried to save you, and you ran. I saved you from the skelebot and brought you here.”
    “No,” Denali whimpered.
    “I’ll kill Barley’s pups,” Samson snarled in a voice devoid of emotion.
    Denali closed her eyes tight. She loved the pups, still bundles of fur and wet noses. They’d not even shed the fine puppy coat of hair. “I won’t say anything.”
    “My father will ask, tell him that I saved you. Tell him that Sabot died trying to save you, but that I killed it!”
    Denali said nothing. She clenched her eyes tight.
    “Say it!” Samson growled and locked his sharp teeth onto Denali’s throat. “Say it!”
    “You saved me. I lured you out, you and Sabot, and you saved me from the skelebot—”
    “—and I killed it!”
    “You killed it, you did,” Denali repeated. The teeth were sharp on her throat and every word seared her. She felt every breath he took, a warm, wet air.
    Samson released Denali and stepped away. His coat was sticky and matted with clotted blood. He glared at her and kept his teeth bared, teeth that still had her hair stuck in clumps.
    She wanted to whimper and cry. She was so scared, even the truth was beyond her. And now she’d be taking the blame. The pups came back to her and she closed her eyes. It’s worth it, it’s worth it for them.
    Munin arrived first. His gray coat shone in the high mountain air. He pursued the exile, but came back quickly. He listened to Samson and then to Denali and said nothing. More marauders came and paced off the area, they covered the draws and edges of the hills. Lastly came Samus with Grat on his heels.
    Samus’s eyes darted between the dogs. His chopped tail was like an unmoving dagger. He glared at Samus and then his eyes burned onto Denali. Munin met him at the edge of a crumbling stone.
    Denali couldn’t hear what they said. The wind whipped the words into the heavens.
    Samus stared at his son. A part of him seemed to grow smaller as Munin spoke, as if a great weight crushed into him. Munin took a step closer but Samus walked away in stilted steps. He stood alone until Grat came closer.
    Denali knew that Grat had lost an entire litter before she came to the pack. She never knew the details. Now she watched the two fathers who had lost sons speak in words that none could hear. Finally both were silent and Denali knew it would be her time to speak.
    “Go, bring back his body,”