“You cannot mean this!”

“I do, and there is something else, still more important, that we must talk about. The hunters who drank your porro have been banished from this valley. They now have their tent far up the river. It comes to me that the sammads will join them there.”

Sanone looked back down at the flames, stirred them with a stick before he spoke. His voice was quiet again, the anger gone. “I have been waiting for you to say that, my friend. We will talk of that, not of the porro, never again must you speak of it. Has the time come for you to leave?”

“It has. When we fought together we lived in peace together. In the city by the ocean, then here in the valley. In the war against the murgu all else was forgotten. Now the battle is over, the murgu are gone, and my hunters grow restless. Drinking the porro was just a sign. To you this valley is a home. For them it is a trap that keeps them away from the plains and the forests, the freedom to move, stay, do as they will. And there is another reason for me.”

Sanone saw Herilak’s eyes drop to the knife again and he understood.

“It is Kerrick. You have spoken to me of the differences that grew between you. Do they still exist?”

Herilak shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. And that, I think, is what I must find out. He is alive, that I believe, or the murgu would have pressed their attack and we would all now be dead. But is Armun alive — and his son? If they are dead then it is my doing. I must tell him that. I no longer see him as my enemy, I wonder why I ever did. But he may still think of me as one who has wronged him greatly. That must be ended. It should never have happened at all. Now I have come to believe that it was all my doing. My hatred of the murgu filled me full, welled out and embraced any who thought different from me.”

“Do you still hold those hatreds within you?”

“No.” He held up the knife. “This is the difference. Despite what I have done to him, despite my treatment of his sammad, he did this. Stopped the murgu and made them send this to us to let us know that he had stopped the attacks.”

Herilak lowered the knife and looked across the fire. “Tell me, Sanone, have we done all that we promised to do? When our death-sticks died and we came to that city on the shore, Kerrick told us what must be done and all the sammadars agreed to do as he asked. We received new death-sticks only when we agreed that we would stay with you in the city and defend it. Have we done that?”

“It is finished. The city was well defended until we were forced out. The murgu who followed us you attacked with all the skills of the hunters of the Tanu. Now we are safe, for I believe as you do that this was the message of the knife. If yours is the wish to leave, and the wish of the hunters of the sammads as well, then you must leave.”

“And the death-sticks?”

“Yours by right. How do the other sammadars feel of this matter?”

“In agreement, all in agreement. It takes but your word to release us.”

“And where will you go?”

“North!” Herilak’s nostrils flared as he smelled the forests and the snow. “This warm land is not for us, not to spend all of the days of our lives.”

“Then go now to the others. Tell them what we both now know. That Kerrick released us from the murgu. So there is no more need for you to remain.”

Herilak sprang to his feet, held the knife high and shouted his pleasure, his voice echoing from the valley walls. Sanone nodded with understanding. This valley was the Sasku home, their refuge, their existence. But for the hunters of the north it was only a trap.

He knew that before the sun had set again they would be gone. Knew also that when the other sammads went to the forests to hunt as they always had, that Herilak would not go their way. He would go east to the ocean, then south again to the murgu city. His life would not be his own, not until he had offered it to Kerrick to take or refuse.

It was almost dawn before fatigue closed Kerrick’s eyes. Sleep would not come earlier. He had sat by the dead fire and looked out across the lake. At the calm water and the stars that marched slowly across the sky, tharms of dead warriors in their nightly progression. They moved overhead steadily until they vanished from sight in the waters of the lake. When the moon had set as well and the night darkened, that must have been when he fell asleep.

He awoke with a start, the grayness of dawn around him, aware of a touch on his shoulder. He rolled over to see the girl, Darras, there.

“What is it?” He choked out the words, filled with fear.

‘You must come now.” She turned and hurried away and he rose and ran after her, passed her and threw open the skin entrance to their tent.

“Armun!”

“It is all right,” her voice spoke from the darkness. “Nothing is wrong. Come see your daughter.”

He pulled the flap wide and in the faint light saw that she was smiling up at him.

“I was so worried,” she said. “I had the great fear that the baby would be like me, with my lip, but now that fear is gone.”

He dropped down beside her, weak with relief, and turned back the skins from the baby’s face. It was wrinkled and red, eyes shut, mewling faintly.

“It is sick — something is wrong!”

“No. That is the way babies always look when they are born. Now we will sleep, but only after you put a name to her. It is known that a baby without a name is in very great danger.”

“What will her name be then?”

“That is not for me to decide,” she said with firm disapproval. “She is your daughter. You must name her. A girl’s name, one that is important to you.”

“Armun, that is a name of great importance to me.”

“That is not done, two of the same name. The best name is of someone who died who was of importance.”

“Ysel.” The name came to his lips without his bidding; he had not thought of her for years. “She died, I lived. Vaintè killed her.”

“Then that is a very good name. That she died so that you might live is the most important name I have ever heard. Ysel and I will sleep now.”

The sunshine was warm, the air fresh, the day new, all of existence as it should be. Kerrick strode with happiness to the shore to wash and plan for the day. There was much to be done before they left. But leave they would, just as soon as Armun was ready. She would decide. He must get everything ready for that day. He splashed water over his face, spluttered and rubbed. Wiped his eyes with his forearm and saw the first rays of sun shining between the trees, striking warmly across the sand.

To Imehei’s still form stretched out in the water. Nadaske was already at his side, sitting in frozen Yilanè immobility.

The day was no longer bright. Kerrick walked over slowly, in silence, stood in silence and looked down at the immobile Imehei. He was breathing slowly through his half-opened mouth. A bubble of saliva formed, then vanished. Nadaske moved one eye to look at Kerrick, then away again.

“Attention to speaking,” Kerrick voiced and waited until Nadaske was looking at him again before he spoke.

“In some few days we will be leaving. We will hunt, leave you meat.”

“Do not. It will turn green and stink. I will fish, there will be enough for both of us. Why do you not leave now?”

Armun and the baby, the unconscious Imehei here with his unwelcome burden of eggs: there was an unwelcome similarity here that Kerrick did not wish to point out.

“The time is not appropriate, preparations to be made. Meat will be brought.”

Nadaske was silent again and there was nothing more that Kerrick could do here, nothing more to say. He went slowly back to his own encampment. Ortnar was awake and supervising Harl, who was fixing arrowheads to their shafts.

“More arrows will be needed,” Ortnar said. “When we hunt and travel arrows that miss cannot always be searched for. Now that the baby is born we can leave.”