Her husband's death had not left Morca a beggar. She had the cabin, a fishing boat and nets and a few cows. Yet in a lonely, country place; and in such times, with the Leopard regime exploiting the peasantry and virtually encouraging gangs of itinerant slave-traders, there could be little peace of mind for a widow living alone with a young family. For Morca Tharrin, improvident and loose-living though he might be, meant the difference between some sort of security and a life of continual fear and anxiety on the edge of the Tonildan Waste. She was content to take

him for bed-mate and protector and when, three years later, Lirrit was born, she was not ill-pleased.

Tharrin, for his part, found himself, as first the months and then the years went by, settling into the life of a Tonildan small-holder much as a chance-flung stone settles into mud. He fished the lake and taught the two older girls to help him in the boat; he did a certain amount of work on Morca's land but rather more (since this paid ready money) on the land of her better-off neighbors; loafed in the Meerzat taverns and from time to time disappeared to Thettit. As will be seen, he discharged some unusual commissions. Yet somehow he always drifted back. For the truth was (though he would never have admitted it) that he was beginning to need, more and more, to settle for what he could get without too much hard work and fatigue. For him it was the first breath of autumn. With little reflection (to which he had, in any case, always been a stranger) he found himself staying on with Morca and her girls. The girls made it easy for him to do so, for while their mother, soured by work and worry, was often shrewish, Tharrin was uncritical, kindly and good-natured, and on this account they liked him and usually banded together to take his part after news of one or another of his escapades had filtered back to the cabin. In return he allowed them to pamper him with what meager luxuries were to be had, let them do much as they pleased and filled their heads with half-understood bawdy jokes and tall stories of former drinking-bouts and girls in Sarkid and Terekenalt. Like many another seedy adventurer drifting into middle age, he had come down to representing himself as a devil of a fellow to youngsters not yet possessed of sufficient experience to see him with eyes other than his own.

His unspoken, but probably strongest, reason for remaining was Maia. Tharrin followed whims and inclinations, not trains of thought. Any notion of fatherly responsibility towards Maia was the last thing that ever entered his head, let alone any consideration of her future or her best interests. He simply enjoyed seeing her about the place, finding her there when he got home, smacking her buttocks and telling her to bring his supper. He liked to tease her and sit laughing as she stared out of her great blue eyes when he had told her some indecent anecdote beyond her comprehension. Girls, to be sure, were-or had once been-two a meld to Tharrin, but for all that,

his palate was not so jaded but he could still be stirred by an exceptionally pretty one. During the past six months- much as a man might begin by casually approving a good-looking colt in a neighbor's field and end with an almost obsessive longing to own it for himself-he had become more and more engrossed by the thought of delicious, ripening Maia-Maia laughing, Maia insolent and defiant to Morca, Maia picking flowers, Maia stripping herself to wash with a child's heedlessness of who might be by. Two things had so far held him back. The first was Morca's sharp, un-hoodwinked jealousy. Though nothing was said, he sensed that she knew very well what he was feeling. Probably it had even occurred to her that he might exchange mother for daughter and vanish one night down the road to Thettit-to Kabin-to anywhere. The other was the girl's own innocence. Short of rape, it is difficult to seduce someone who simply does not know what it is all about; who has not yet even begun to be aware of carnal feelings in her own body-burgeoning though it may be. So Tharrin, as he clutched Morca in the darkness behind the curtain screening their bed from the rest of the room, fixed his thoughts on Maia, imagining in his mind's eye her glowing cheeks and downcast eyes as he undressed her, hearing her begging him to be gentle, her mounting, cries at the onset of a pleasure never before known: and other delightful fancies, borrowed from memories of years before; for it was many a day since he had had the opportunity to instruct an ingenue, and hearts that he had broken long ago had long been breaking others.

As Morca's next pregnancy advanced, she grew daily more irritable, nervous and moody; flying into tempers with the girls, taking less and less care either of her appearance or of the cleanliness of the cabin, relapsing into fits of lassitude and, increasingly, denying her body to Tharrin with a kind of bitter satisfaction, so that often even his good-nature (which in any case was composed of indolence and weakness rather than of any real charity) was strained. She, like him but more comfortlessly, had now begun, with the years, to see ahead down a long and ever-darkening slope. Sometimes, her anxiety and chagrin gnawing while she waited for Tharrin to return from the tavern-or elsewhere-the fancy would come upon her that not only her beauty, but her very capacity to contend with life was being drained away into Maia's sleek, firm

young body, her rosy cheeks and golden hair. Her former husband had been thrifty and hard-working. If he had lived, they would probably have been well-off in a few more years. Maia-so it seemed to Morca-had become, with her selfish, wayward intractability, nothing but a dead weight and a useless mouth.

Not far from the cabin a great ash-tree stood beside the lake, and here, during the summer afternoons, Morca would often catch sight of Maia sprawled along a branch, chewing grass and gazing down at her reflection in the green water, indolent and luxurious as a cat on a bench. Then she would scream at her to come down and sweep the floor or peel the vegetables; and the girl would comply with a lazy, shoulder-shrugging grace which only increased Morca's resentment. After a time, however, Maia, tired of predictable interruption, forsook the ash-tree and took to straying further afield, to the marshes or the waterfall: or she would swim out more than half a mile, to an island near the center of the lake, there to bask away the afternoon before returning for a supper to the preparation of which she had contributed nothing.

There was never quite enough to go round-never enough, that is, for satisfaction. They were not starving, or even in serious want; yet throughout the past year, as the girls had grown, there seemed to Morca to be less and less than in days gone by-less variety and quality and less prospect of making provision for the future. Often it was all she could do to feed Tharrin as a man ought to be fed and to fend off, with bread, apples and porridge, the continual hunger of the rest. Once, Maia had sat down by the road and eaten half the butter she was supposed to be taking to market at Meerzat.

"But she won't do it again," Morca had said in relating the matter to Tharrin, who roared with laughter and invited Maia to show him her weals. There were only two, for after the second blow Maia had torn the stick out of her mother's hand and snapped it across her knee.

Perhaps it was the recollection of this which now caused Morca to cut short her tirade. Taking down a wooden tub from where it hung on two nails by the door, she carried it over to the hearth and began to fill it with warm water for Tharrin to wash. Her back being turned, he winked at Maia, holding a finger to his lips. The girl smiled back and, having gone so far as to turn away before stripping to her

shift, wrapped herself in an old blanket, sat down on a stool and began mending her torn bodice with needle and thread.