Cordwell's people were folded into the camp by evening.
That was the word Vane kept coming back to.
Not processed.
Not assigned.
Folded in.
Space appeared for them almost without discussion. Blankets were found. Bedrolls shifted. Two families from the older camp moved closer together so one of the deeper shelters could be given to people with children.
Someone started a second fire before anyone asked.
Not larger than the first.
Just enough.
The kind of decision made by people who remembered exactly how cold the first night after leaving home could feel, even when the air itself was not especially cold.
Forty-one new people should have made the camp feel crowded.
Instead, the camp changed shape around them.
Hale's people had clearly done this before.
Too many times.
Isole moved among the arrivals while the others settled.
The evacuation had succeeded.
That did not mean the people inside it had come through untouched.
She checked feet.
Breathing.
Water.
