The basket smelled like old feathers and spoilt food.
Zhen had catalogued both of these things in the first thirty seconds, along with the dimensions of their prison (too small), the weave of the reeds (tight, but not perfect), and the fact that Tao Zi was sitting in the far corner pretending he was not scared.
She was also pretending she was not scared.
They were both doing a very good job.
"Where do you think they're taking us?" she asked.
"Their territory." Tao Zi's voice was flat. "Vultures nest high. We've been moving upward."
She had noticed that too. The sway of the basket, the thinning of the sounds below, the way the air had gotten cooler and sharper. She pressed her eye to a gap in the weave and saw treetops. A lot of treetops. Very far below.
She moved away from the gap.
"Have you been here before?" she asked.
"No."
"Have you heard of it?"
A pause. Slightly too long. "Stories."
"Good stories or bad stories?"
He looked at her.
"Okay," Zhen said. "Bad stories."
