It was the waiting now, the not-knowing, that bothered Armun. At first it had been all right, once the decision had been made to leave the camp by the lake there had been no turning back, no hesitation on her part. If anything she had been the strong one, forcing Kerrick again and again to remember that it had been a good decision — and the only one possible. Whenever she found him sitting, grim with worry, she patiently went through their reasons for deciding to leave — yet once again. They had no other choice. They had to go.

Arnwheet, the one they were both most concerned about, seemed to care the least. He had never been parted from his mother so could not understand what it would be like. Darras, who was finally getting over her nightmares, was not happy about the change at all and cried a lot. Ortnar did not care one way or the other — while Harl could not wait for them to leave. Then he would be the only hunter, the sole provider. But the two Yilanè were sure that their end had come. Imehei was composing his death song. Nadasake was determined to die fighting and kept his hèsotsan close by him at all times. Kerrick understood their fears — but rejected them. The two halves of sammad Kerrick had a working relationship now and would have to go on like that. There was no need for it to change. The Yilanè were adept at catching the lake fish and crustacea, swimming out at dawn to set their traps and nets. But they were indifferent hunters at the best. Because of this an equal trade had been established, fish for meat, and all those concerned were pleased with the arrangement. Arnwheet, the only one welcome without suspicion in both camps, took care of the exchanges, proudly staggering under the weight of his burdens. The males would be safe — they would all be safe enough as long as their presence here was not discovered.

Leaving, getting to the headland by the sea, all that had gone easily and well. With no responsibilities or cares they had looked to each other, reveling in the newfound freedom and closeness. Many times they even walked hand-in-hand through the summer warmth. No true hunter would have done that, there must only be silence and watchfulness on the track, but Armun appreciated this even more.

That had been during the first days. But now the waiting was a strain in their camp above the bay, looking out at the empty ocean day after day. Kerrick was in a dark and sullen mood, would sit staring out over the sea, watching for the Paramutan ikkergak that never came. He sat there and did not hunt; their meat was almost gone, and he did not seem to care. Armun knew that when he was like this and if she spoke to him, she would say too much — or too little — so she stayed away during the daytime gathering the roots and plants that made up the larger part of their diet now.

It was early afternoon and her basket was less than half-full when Armun heard him calling through the trees. There was something wrong! But her fear subsided as she listened again; he was shouting something, excitedly. She ran toward him, calling out as well, and they met in the tiny meadow of high grass and yellow flowers.

“They’re here, the Paramutan, coming toward the beach!”

He seized her and spun her about so that they both fell and her basket spilled. They refilled it together until he took hold of her again and they rolled in the long grass.

“We cannot, not now,” she said gently. “We don’t want them to leave without us.”

When they came down to the little bay the black form of the ikkergak, sail lowered, was rocking in the offshore shallows. There was waving and shouting as they splashed out to it: willing hands pulled them aboard. Angajorqaq was there, eyes round and worried in the smooth fur of her face, her hands clapped over her mouth.

“Alone,” she wailed. “The two boys — gone…”

Kalaleq clambered over to them while Armun was explaining about the children, lumps of deliciously rotten meat held out in welcome greeting.

“Eat, be happy, there are many things to be told about—” Kerrick stopped him with upraised hand.

“Slowly, please… understanding difficult.”

He had forgotten the little Paramutan he had learned during the winter; he called to Armun. She listened to the rush of words, then translated for him.

“They have gone — all of the rest of the Paramutan, across the ocean to a place he calls Allanivok. This ikkergak is the last one to leave. They have found the schools of ularuaq and a good shore where they can do something, I don’t know what the word means, flensing. They have taken everything, the small boats, the paukaruts, all the children, everyone.” There was fear in her voice when she said this.

“You think that if we go with them — we will never get back here? Ask him about it, now.”

“It is a long voyage,” Kalaleq said. “You will like it there — you won’t want to come back.”

“Thick of skull, eyes that cannot see!” Angajorqaq said loudly, striking him with her closed fist on his brown-furred arm. But it was a light blow, intended only to draw his attention to the importance of her words. “Tell Armun now that when she wishes to return to this land, that you will take her — or do you wish to separate her from her first-born male child for the rest of her life?”

Kalaleq smiled, frowned, struck himself on the forehead to show his chagrin. “Of course, an easy voyage, we will go when you want, this is never a problem to one who knows the winds and the sea as I do.”

After shouted greetings from everyone else aboard there was the suggestion made that perhaps this would be a good day to start on the voyage to Allanivok. They could leave now, there was no reason to stay. With the Tanu aboard there was nothing else to do on this side of the ocean. Once the decision had been made, with typical Paramutan enthusiasm, they hurled themselves into the task. All the waterskins were taken ashore, rinsed and refilled from the stream. The instant they were all back aboard the ikkergak was pushed off the beach, swung about to catch the wind. The lines to the sail were tightened, and the voyage began. Their course was northeast so they slowly drew away from the shore. The land grew more distant and before sunset had vanished completely. When the sun dropped below the horizon they were alone in the ocean.

The pitching and rolling of the ikkergak made it very easy to refuse the offer of decayed meat and rich blubber: seasickness struck both Tanu down. Once the others had finished eating most of them crawled under the forward shelter and fell asleep. It was a warm night and the air was fresher outside; Armun and Kerrick stayed where they were.

“Do you know how long it will take us to make the crossing?” Kerrick asked. Armun laughed.

“I asked Kalaleq that. A number of days he said. Either they don’t count very well — or they don’t care.”

“A little of both. They don’t seem to be worried at all being away from shore like this. How do they find their way and not sail in circles?”

As though in answer to their question, Kalaleq climbed up next to the mast and held to it with one hand, swaying as they rode up on the easy waves. There was no moon, but it was easy to see in the bright starlight. He held something to the sky and looked at it, then shouted instructions to the helmsman who pulled the steering oar over. The sail flapped a little at this so Kalaleq loosened knots, tightened some lines and let out others, until the sail was angled to their satisfaction. When this was finished Armun called him over and asked him what he had been doing looking at the stars.