The smell of the smoke became worse. Not like a cooking fire, the sweet smell of dry wood tinged with game and entwined with all the smells of the woods he knew so well. This was the smell of burning leaves still moist from yesterday's rains, of the deep wood from the interior of ancient firs ablaze, and the fear of trapped animals waiting for painful death. His home was burning. Amelanchier nodded. "It is unnatural." "Do you know where they are?" Amelanchier asked. "No, but the forest does," replied Calatin. "Hold them." "This is your doing, human? This fire?" "With fire?"