Yet all the while the strangers had been huddling like addled children in some terrible lizard's scrape, even after they had attacked the skull wearer, after they had humiliated him in front of his followers and the local people. They hadn't shown themselves to claim their victory, nor asserted their authority over this place and any who dwelt there. They hadn't killed the skull wearer nor yet

challenged him to yield to their greater power and serve them instead. They had just run away and hadn't even been able to find this sanctuary for their kind.

But then, wherever they had come from must be further away than she could imagine. They didn't understand her words and she certainly could make no sense of their tongue. Their talk sounded like the evening birds chattering back and forth in the depths of the green forest.

The old woman rubbed a thoughtful hand around the back of her neck. Why had she returned and shown them the way to the cave? Perhaps they wouldn't have bothered pursuing her if she had just disappeared into the night. But there had been so many terrors out there in the darkness. Well, the old man had always told her there was no point in regrets. They had helped her cross the river and that meant she should help them, if she could. Because the gratitude of a painted man had a value beyond reckoning in an ordinary life, never mind when you were caught in an ominous valley where a river separated two painted men's territories.

Had they come to drive out both painted men and seize the valley for themselves? There was no doubt that these strangers were painted people. She had seen them kindle coloured light and set tree roots and the ground itself against the skull wearer. The reddish-skinned man had summoned flame out of the empty air to light the firewood. They had the power even if they wore none of the usual adornments to declare it. Unless that was what the reddish stranger's peculiar shining leg was. The old woman looked at that for a while, utterly mystified.

Some while later, she looked back at the other man, the dark-skinned one with the brilliant knives. She'd seen no sign of him using a painted man's power. Or the girl in the soft pink garb. Yet the golden stranger and the reddish one both followed this man's lead. Well, he did

hold the most lethal weapons she had ever seen. How many men had he killed or beaten into bloody submission in their unknown homeland? How many would a warrior have to kill to establish such authority over two painted

ones?

Reluctant to pursue that notion, the old woman looked at the black-haired girl. She had kept close to the tall man as he had led them all the long way through the spine thickets and down to the grassy plain. Even in sleep they were close together. The girl must be his woman, she concluded. Not the golden stranger, though. There was no hint of such closeness in the way the two of them had dealt with each other. Or in the way the golden stranger and tiie reddish one had behaved. They weren't mated, she was sure of that.

Where was their blue raft? This new question struck her with the force of a blow. She hadn't expected to see them again after they had floated away ahead of her up the coast. She had only been concerned with escaping the followers she expected would come after them. But there had been no sign of followers, and now there was no sign of the blue raft. They had been walking through the spine thickets when she had seen them in the distance.

She sighed. Why had she given in to the curiosity that had drawn her to follow them? Why hadn't she gone back to the headland and the emptiness where she had lived unbothered by anyone? It had been an unpleasant surprise to discover that the skull-wearer's territory had been so close, but she hadn't seen his people before. Now he and all his followers and that wide river besides lay between her and that barren coast. And his quarrel with these strangers would only be ended when someone was dead.

Could she possibly get back to her headland without being caught if she abandoned these strangers before they woke? She sighed again. No, she really didn't think so. How would she cross the river?

The old woman rose slowly to her feet and hobbled up the awkward slope, her back aching. Her bladder was uncomfortably full and she was hungry and thirsty. Outside in the dawn cool she relished the fresh scent of the dewy air. Birds twittered in the trees, no cries of alarm ripping through the skeins of mist to warn her of some lurking predator. All the same, she went a prudent distance from the painted cave before she made a scrape in a drift of leaf litter with one foot and relieved herself. She kicked leaves back over the dampness, still looking warily around.

Noticing a clump of familiar leaves, she cursed herself for a fool as she realised she'd left her digging stick and her stone blade back in the cave. She knelt, and tried and failed to dig with her hands, then looked around for some scrap of wood to help her break the hard, dry earth. Movement caught her eye and she froze. But it wasn't some terrible lizard tasting the scent of her urine on the air. The tall man and his woman had woken and were standing by the cave entrance. They went a short distance to relieve themselves as she had done, each keeping watch for the other. Then they walked a little way from the cave, looking around. Looking for her.

The old woman sat back on her heels, motionless. There was another puzzle. These people must eat. They had carried food with them, strange as it was. Now the man was looking around hungrily while the girl was peering into her empty bag with a foolish expression. Didn't they realise they were standing under green-nut trees?

Or were they expecting her to forage for them? Perhaps that was it. Perhaps that was why they had let her live. Without whatever followers they must surely have back in their distant homeland, who else was there to bring them food and water?

But she couldn't dig with her empty hands. The old

woman made a sudden decision and beckoned to them, her smile beseeching. As they approached, the tall man smiled back, though the girl still looked less friendly, quietly saying something in her fluting voice.

The old woman pointed down at the dark spotted leaves and made a digging motion with both hands. She gazed at the tall man, willing him to understand her. He nodded slowly and drew one of his great knives out of its covering. It was as long as his forearm and as wide as his hand and the old woman marvelled at the way it shone like water. More importantly, it bit into the dry earth as readily as any black-stone blade.

He soon uncovered a cluster of the plant's swollen purple roots and, producing a smaller knife of the same shiny stuff, deftly cut one free. Holding it to his open mouth without biting into it, he looked up at the old woman, his face questioning. She shook her head firmly and reached out to tap the curious shiny gourd the girl carried slung from one shoulder.

The girl stiffened for a moment, then slowly un-slung the gourd and unsealed it, setting it down on the ground. The old woman was momentarily distracted by the marvellous strangeness of the way she took off a piece that had seemed to be part of the whole. Then she realised the tall man was still kneeling there, looking quite addled as he held up the purple root. Carefully she took the root from him and, emboldened, reached for his pale knife. Concern creasing his brow, he pretended to touch the edge before snatching away his finger with an exaggerated show of pain. Then, his expression still warning her, he let her take it.

Amused, the old woman carefully took the strange pale knife and sliced into the purple root. The water the plant had so carefully hoarded trickled into the mouth of the gourd. The tall man said something, smiling like a child