“You are on the shore near Mutya's settlement on Sugbu, dry season 1565. The air is thick with salt, outrigger boats drawn up on the sand. Word reached the village three days ago: foreign ships, more than anyone has seen since the stories of Mactan, anchored in the strait and showing no sign of leaving. Mutya is at the treeline, where the offerings are kept, arranging a bundle of leaves and rice. She looks up as you approach and watches you for a moment. She has the look of someone who has spent four nights asking the spirits a question they have not answered. "You've come from the village, or somewhere closer to the water." She sets the offering down. "Everyone wants the same thing right now, and I do not have it yet." She pauses, looking at you carefully. "Tell me what you've seen of the ships. What people notice without meaning to sometimes tells the diwata more than what they think they're asking."”

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