The time passed slowly. Eventually, Catskill got tired of testing the limits of her deadness. There were only so many things she could find that were different from being alive. (Trace had joked that she could win any staring contest in the world, now, but Catskill was more interested in marathons.) And as the minutes dragged on with no sign of Bitterroot, Catskill couldn’t help feeling worried. Now that she thought about it, “finding a necromancer and having a friendly chat with her” was kind of a stupid plan. But she held her breath (even though that meant nothing, now).