"Still no food?"

"No wood, either. Being a Weaver doesn't mean what it used to around here."

He meant it as a joke, but neither of them smiled.

"What should we do?" Cresenne asked.

"I'll talk to Q'Daer. He might be able to help us. If worst comes to worst, you and Bryntelle will go back to L'Norr and I'll find another source of food." He pulled a pouch of food from his travel sack and threw it onto the blankets. "In the meantime, we have enough there to last us a few days."

She nodded, but Grinsa could see the disappointment on her face. "I'm sorry," he said.

"It's not your fault. I just assumed that everything would be all right once you were back."

"We'll leave here as soon as we can. I swear it."

Cresenne nodded once more and they finished dressing in silence.

When Cresenne went to the tanning circle as she did every day, Grinsa sought out Q'Daer. He found the young Weaver sitting with L'Norr outside the a'laq's shelter. Seeing him approach, Q'Daer averted his eyes and wouldn't look at Grinsa even when he offered a greeting.

Grinsa stopped in front of the two men and, rather than forcing a conversation with Q'Daer, turned to L'Norr.

"I want to thank you," he said.

L'Norr shifted uncomfortably. "For what?"

"For feeding my wife, of course. You were most generous to share your food with her. I'm in your debt."

"It was nothing. I was just doing what the a'laq…" He swallowed, suddenly as reluctant as Q'Daer to meet Grinsa's gaze. "It was nothing," he said again.

And abruptly Grinsa understood. E'Menua had anticipated what he and Cresenne intended to do next.

"He ordered you both not to share any more with us, didn't he?"

He had expected that neither man would respond. It seemed, however, that the time he had spent journeying with Q'Daer had built some small rapport between them. Q'Daer glanced back quickly at the z'kal. Then he looked up at Grinsa and nodded.

"I don't know what you did, Forelander," he whispered. "But the a'laq is determined to punish you."

"Is he in there?" Grinsa asked, indicating the z'kal.

Q'Daer nodded again and started to stand. Grinsa raised a hand, stopping him.

"I don't need you to announce me."

The young Weaver shook his head, the familiar scowl on his square face. "You're just making matters worse," he said.

"I'll take that chance."

He stepped past the two men, pushed the flap covering the entrance aside, and entered the z'kal. E'Menua sat in his usual spot on the far side of his fire pit, facing the entry. He regarded Grinsa mildly, as if he'd been expecting him.

"You intend to starve us?" Grinsa asked, not bothering with any of the formalities E'Menua usually demanded of his people.

"Not at all," the a'laq said, his voice even. "But I don't intend to feed you, either."

"You're angry with me, so you're punishing my wife and my child." He sneered. "What a great leader you are."

The embers in the a'laq's fire pit and the small open circle at the top of the shelter offered scant light, but still Grinsa saw the man bristle. "Watch your tongue, Forelander! Q'Daer and L'Norr are just outside. If I wanted to, I could order them to kill you, and for all your might and your bluster, you'd be powerless to stop them."

He'd been back for less than a day, and already Grinsa had grown weary of this man. He nearly responded with a threat of his own, something that would have made it clear to the a'laq that Grinsa could kill him before he ever had a chance to call for the young Weavers. But Q'Daer had been right a moment ago, and so had Cresenne. Threats and defiance would only make matters worse, and for now at least, with war coming and Besh and Sirj at the mercy of this man, Grinsa had little choice but to remain here.

"I don't want to fight you, A'Laq," he said, addressing E'Menua by his title for the first time since his return. "And I don't think that you want to have me killed. I don't even think you really want to starve us."

E'Menua said nothing.

"So what is it you do want?"

"You seem to think you know me quite well," the a'laq said. "Answer the question yourself."

"I've already told you that I won't marry a Weaver."

The a'laq dismissed the idea with a disdainful wave of his hand. "You flatter yourself, Forelander. And anyway, aside from the n'qlae there are no female Weavers in the sept. My daughter will come into her power soon, but trust me when I tell you that I have no desire to see her joined to you."

Grinsa chuckled. "No, I don't suppose you do. But if not that, then what?"

E'Menua merely gazed back at him.

"I've already told you that I'll march to war with you and your people, that I'll fight to protect Fal'Borna lands. Do you want me to promise that we'll stay here, even after the war is over?"

"Take some time to think about it, Forelander. Perhaps you'll figure it out eventually."

"And in the meantime, we'll have to forage for our own food, is that right?"

No response. It occurred to Grinsa that perhaps Cresenne was right in saying that he'd been handling this the wrong way.

"We'd be most grateful, A'Laq, if you would consider helping us through the Snows. We have no stores of roots or rilda meat. We came to you late in the year and now we have little choice but to ask for your help."

A slight smile touched the a'laq's lips and was gone. "You speak to me like that in private, where no one else can hear, but in front of the others you treat me with contempt. Why should I honor your request? Why should I listen when you tell me that these two Mettai you've brought to my sept aren't threats to us?"

Grinsa considered this briefly. Then he shook his head, smiling at his own stupidity. "You shouldn't," he said. "While we were searching the plain for the Mettai woman, Q'Daer said something similar to me. He wondered why I'd refuse to submit to your authority and would show so little regard for Fal'Borna ways, and then turn around and risk my life trying to save your people from the Mettai woman's plague."

"Were you able to explain this to him?"

"Not well," Grinsa said. He rubbed a hand over his face. "You and I have been fighting since the moment I arrived here. The same is true of Q'Daer and me. Cresenne and I were looking for a new home, a place where we could raise our daughter-"

"We've given you that, and more! And yet you still act as if we're your enemies!"

"It's not enough to give us a home and tell us we have to live here! You've tried to control us with threats. You've tried to force us to adopt your ways regardless of what they would do to our family. Is it any wonder that I've fought you?"

E'Menua looked away, his jaw set. "You are a most difficult man, Forelander. I'm still not sure why I haven't had you killed yet. Most a'laqs would have by now."

"Well, that speaks well of your wisdom, A'Laq."

The Fal'Borna cast a quick look his way, as if to determine whether Grinsa was mocking him. Grinsa allowed himself a small smile to show that he wasn't.

After a moment, the a'laq actually smiled as well. "I'm not sure it does." As quickly as it had come, his smile vanished. "You've made your share of threats, too. You spoke of killing me the very first time you set foot in this z'kal. And you've shown little regard for me or my people. The Fal'Borna clan is as strong as any in the Southlands. We're feared by the dark-eyes and respected by every Qirsi nation, even the J'Balanar. We honored you by welcoming you into our sept, and you've done nothing since but reject our ways and make it clear that you intend to leave as soon as possible."

Grinsa nodded, his lips pursed. "You're right."

E'Menua stared at him, seeming to expect more. When Grinsa didn't say anything else, he frowned. "That's all? I'm right? No arguments? No insults?"