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“Flesh,” the sharp-toothed one repeated, a keening whine that made the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. 

“Hush, Kelast,” the one who looked like Khalim said, soft and placating. “You’ll be all right.”

He sounded like Khalim. I searched his face, looking for some flaw that might give away a shapeshifter, or a detail that would prove that my eyes did not deceive me. There were his dark eyes, untainted by the deceiver’s gold, exactly as I remembered them. There was his smile, warm and guileless. 

Khalim had left the citadel where the god Torr had confined him—that I knew. I also knew that he would seek out the lost and wounded, and how else could one describe these strange people gathered around the fire? They showed no visible injuries on the hands and faces that emerged from their robes, but their eyes—the eyes of deer and frogs as well as of men—were hollow and hungry. 

But I had been deceived before. I was spared, then, by having witnessed the serpent-god of the desert reach into my memories and put on the image of Khalim. This vision might have been more of the same. 

I reached out, and the image of Khalim did the same, but my hand passed through his. I drew it back, startled. 

“You really are made of flesh,” he said, awe and wonder on his face. 

The sharp-toothed man, Kelast, made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. 

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Fearghus waited, ginger brows raised in an unspoken question. He’d always called me impatient, and said that his fiery hair belied which of us was the more hotheaded. I had missed him so—even in the long years when I had thought of nothing and no one but Khalim, I carried Fearghus with me. I dared not reach out to touch him for fear that he would vanish into the salt-heavy air. 

“What are you doing here?” I said, finding my voice at last. “You should be upon the summer plains, hunting with the gods of our people. Please, tell me that you haven’t been banished to this desolate place.”

The gray sea broke against the shore in a whisper, lifting my boat and pushing it further into the rocks. I’d have to pull it farther ashore if I ever planned to return to it, but for now, I could not tear my eyes from Fearghus’s face.