The watchman — young, probably Torand — follows her pointing finger to the treeline, peers into the dark, sees nothing. He looks back at her uncertainly, then looks again more carefully.

Jens has also, without appearing to move, ended up where he can see what she's pointing at.

Torand shifts his weight, uncomfortable with not knowing what to do with this information. He looks at Jens.

Jens looks at the treeline for a long moment. "Happens," he says, quietly. "Sometimes they come from there. Sometimes nothing." He glances at DZ. "She can see it from here?"

Jens absorbs this without visible reaction, which is probably the most informative response he could have given — he's filing it the same way Kiril files things, carefully and without comment.

Torand is less practiced. "Can she tell if something's coming?"

Torand nods, with the slightly too-quick energy of someone grateful to have actionable information even if it's vague. He looks at Jens.

"I'll tell Vass," Jens says, and is gone with the particular quietness that is apparently just how he moves.

Torand accepts this with a nod and returns to watching the marsh, standing a little straighter than he was before.

Kolar arrives twenty minutes later, quiet for someone her size. She looks at the treeline, looks at Deskyl, looks at Torand.

"What exactly did she see?" she asks DZ, without preamble.

Kolar is quiet for a moment, looking at the treeline with the expression of someone translating unfamiliar information into familiar categories.

"The dead come from there sometimes," she says. Not to DZ, not to Deskyl specifically — just saying it to the dark. "We don't know why that spot." She pauses. "How long has it been building?"

Kolar nods, slowly. She's quiet for long enough that it might be the end of the conversation.

"Piral should know," she says finally. And then, with visible effort that she probably thinks doesn't show: "She did well, seeing it."

Deskyl gives Kolar an assessing look that's out of place from the rest of the conversation, then nods at DZ's translation.

"She says she'll go with you if you intend to investigate it tonight."

Kolar considers the offer for a moment — weighing it, probably, against several things at once.

"Not tonight," she says. "If nothing's coming yet, we watch. Piral paralyzes them when they come, soldiers finish them." A beat. "That's how we do it here."

"Yes ma'am," DZ offers, before translating. "She does need to get back to bed if she's going to go foraging in the morning."

Kolar nods. No argument, no comment on the weakness implied by needing to leave. She's already turned back to the treeline.

Torand watches her go and recalibrates something he couldn't name. The marsh is quiet in the direction she was pointing.

She stays a while longer, looking out on the marsh and occasionally signing something to DZ. It's still quiet by the time she leaves for bed.

Around the third hour of the night, a small wave — eight of them — comes from that treeline. Piral paralyzes four; the soldiers handle the rest. One soldier takes a minor injury, nothing serious. The whole thing is over in under ten minutes.

In the morning, the fort is running on slightly less sleep than usual but otherwise normal.

Deskyl rises with the rest of the fort, this morning, and when Merra is done with her breakfast, she goes to find her.

Merra is finishing the last of her breakfast in the yard, sitting on a crate in the early morning light. She clocks Deskyl's approach and stands, unhurried.

She waits, since starting a conversation seems like DZ's job.

"Yes," Merra says, and tosses the rest of her cup into the dirt. She looks at Deskyl directly, the assessing look of someone who spends a lot of time judging terrain. "How far can she go? In the marsh."