From where Julia and Gaia were standing, on the low wall of Fortune’s bridge, they could see the expression of each runner. No single boy or girl would run in the same way, each moved her legs, her hands following a natural, individual motion. People crowded calles and fondamentas and campos, leaving a tight passage for the kids running. Sixteen years old raced once a year on Sea Gate, a group of islands that Gaia, Julia and Kristen reached in half an hour of navigation in a small rowboat, with other visitors. Gaia raised on a ledge to have a better view, holding on Kristen’s shoulders.