TelZodo limped to the closest winch, his side smarting, and released and pulled out the first pole. His palms burned. He muttered, "I could do this faster with gloves on," and jerked his head toward the corner where he had left them. Dirt fell from his hair and trickled down his shirt.

She retrieved the gloves and walked them over, still aiming the gun as he slipped them on. Close up, he could see redness in her eyes and smell exhaustion on her skin. If she shot him now, it would be by accident.

She didn't seem the type to have that kind of accident.

He pointed to the muzzle. "That's my mother's gun."

She leveled her gaze at him. "This was BrushBurn's gun before it was Piri's. I'm going to return it to him and let him decide what he wants to do with it."

TelZodo squinted at her as he lifted the pole again. Part of her seemed to look right through him, toward someplace else. Then her nostrils twitched again. For a moment the dance in her eyes turned chaotic and he smelled fear.

Then it was gone.

TelZodo wondered if he'd imagined it. What did she have to be afraid of? She was the one holding the weapon. "Who are you?"

"TripStone."

He turned away from her and started rolling up the awning before she could see his reaction. He could barely figure out what it was, but he didn't care. Let her smell the same hodgepodge on him that he'd smelled on her.