Zulf tried to hide it, but the Kid was too sharp. Three days had passed since the Bastion took off for new lands. No one was working too hard—not much to do but take potshots at passing Peckers and wait—but Zulf was doing more than anybody. Cooking, feeding the Anklegator, polishing the gods. It was just his luck the Kid was oiling his machete and saw Zulf fall down and wheeze for a few minutes. Before Zulf knew it the Kid had hauled him off to a bedroom and was taking Zulf's shirt off. The skin beneath was mottled and bruised. The Kid felt around the area, shook his head, and went to get Rucks and Zia.

A few broken ribs, a contusion or two, some heavy bruising. Zulf didn't think it was all that bad, but nobody else agreed with him.

"Damn fool," Rucks said, shaking his head from Zulf's bedside. "Shoulda told us you were hurt when you got back instead of putting yourself in all this pain. I'll go get you somethin' to drink." And he vanished. The Kid, it turned out, knew a lot about fixing up broken folks, as on the Rippling Walls most folk had to take care of each other. He brought Zulf an ice pack wrapped in leaves and told him not to get out of bed unless he had to take a piss. Then he left—but he promised he'd be back.

Rucks came back with Bastion Bourbon. "This stuff could cure a Squirt of gas," he said with a chuckle, and uncorked the bottle. He'd brought two slightly dirty cups with him, and sat with Zulf a few hours, drinking and telling stories. Once the bottle was empty, they just talked, about the old days and what they might do when they got to someplace new. Zulf figured he'd settle down, maybe preach in a little town. Rucks thought that sounded real good.

Zia came in when Rucks left. She sat on the edge of Zulf's bed with her harp and plucked at the strings, not really playing for him, just playing. She liked it best that way, when the music was a part of the experience but not the total exchange. Zia never much liked attention. Music for her was like...was like talking in another language. Some people made a big fuss of it, but in the end it was another way to communicate.

Rain flows from mountains to the sea.

I wonder if it knows.

Rain flows from mountains to the sea.

Does it mind where it goes?

Rain falls to earth for you and me,

for every stone and every tree.

Rain flows from mountains to the sea.

"That's a nice tune," Zulf said, closing his eyes. Zia smiled, and picked up the tempo, grinning and bobbing her head with the music. As she sang, her forehead creased in a frown, and her singing came from someplace deep, someplace hurt and hidden.

Rain flows from mountains to the sea, flowing down eternally

and it doesn't care for you or I.

but why do mountains crumble into sand

pushed through the blue to distant lands?

When we turn to ash, where will we be?

Oh, mother, tell me when that rain will fall.

Oh, brother, will you hold me when I call?

Oh, mother, take me to that far off land.

Oh, brother, find me if you think you can...

Zulf turned his head to the side, and his tears soaked into his pillow.

No one said that dinner would be happening in Zulf's room. They all just showed up there. Rucks first, clutching a bunch of bottles from the Brewery, then Zia. The Kid came last, with actual food, which no one else had thought of. He wasn't much in a kitchen, but he could make simple things. They had pecker eggs and hotcakes with clotted cream, and Zia played a song that Rucks got up and danced to. The Kid wasn't much of a dancer, but he sat next to Zulf and rocked from side to side with him, just so he didn't get left out.

The next morning Rucks and the Kid went down and got Zulf out of bed. Then they picked up his bed and carried it all the way up to the top of the Bastion.

"Ain't right to be down in the guts of this thing when it's so damn beautiful up here," Rucks said, puffing and wheezing. He had to sit down for a few hours. "'Sides, we didn't want you missin' breakfast." And breakfast there was. Rucks was on duty, so it was slices of fried fruit and fresh bread he'd started baking at the crack of dawn. Zia didn't feel like singing, so the Kid plucked some awful notes on her harp and sang an old song he'd heard the Mason's sing in a sweet voice. He wasn't a talent, but they were all friends, or something. Something.

(Something like the little ways Zia touches the Kid's hands when they're alone. It's not a sex thing—even if the Kid was interested in that kind of thing, which he ain't, he ain't Zia's type—but it's definitely some thing. They hole up in the Memorial and just sing the saddest songs until they can't think up words anymore and just sing long notes that give Zulf nightmares with how sorrowful they are.)

(Something like how when Rucks smiles Zulf can almost forget what Rucks did and see a sweet old man.)

There was just something about the Bastion. It had a way of putting everything in the past. When his ribs healed, Zulf stopped speaking the Ura language to Zia. For a week she wouldn't say a word to him. He told her there was no room for division in the future they were going to build and she damn near bit his head off.

"You fool man. Teach Rucks and the Kid to speak it. We'll all speak it, outsiders or Ura. We will all speak. That's the least we can do. The least we owe them. The Kid didn't think we could build a world without the Calamity, so please. Please just stop acting like the Calamity killed us all. We are still here."

They were still there when the sun set; the genocide, the hero, the poet, the preacher. They were going to build one hell of a world. They were going to build it real good, like a wall that'll never come down.