Johanna sat with Scrupilo in the first rank of troopers before the Queen. The Commander of Cannoneers stood at Tinish parade rest: rumps on the ground, chest high, most heads facing front. Scrup had come through it without serious damage. His white head had a few more scorch marks, and one of the other members had sprained a shoulder falling off the path. He wore his flying cannoneer muffs as flamboyantly as always, but there was something subdued about him — maybe it was just the military formation and getting a medal for heroism.

The Queen was wearing her special jackets. Each head looked out at a different section of her audience. Johanna still couldn't understand Tinish, and would certainly never speak it without mechanical assistance. But the sounds were mostly within her range of hearing — the "low" frequencies carried a lot better than higher ones. Even without memory aides and grammar generators she was learning a little. She could recognize emotional tone easily, and things like the raucous ark ark ark that passed for applause around here. As for individual words — well, they were more like chords, single syllables that had meaning. Nowadays, if she listened really carefully (and Pilgrim weren't nearby to give a running translation) she could even recognize some of those.

… Just now, for instance, Woodcarver was saying good things about her audience. Approving ark ark's came from all directions. They sounded like a bunch of sea'mals. One of the Queen's heads dipped into a bowl, came up with a small carven doodad in its mouth. She spoke a pack's name, a multichord tumptititum that if Johanna heard often enough she might be able to repeat as "Jaqueramaphan" — or even see meaning in, as "Wickwrackscar".

From the front rank of the audience, a single member trotted toward the Queen. It stopped practically nose to nose with the Queen's nearest member. Woodcarver said something about bravery, and then two of her fastened the wooden — broach? — to the member's jacket. It turned smartly and returned to its pack.

Woodcarver picked out another decoration, and called on another pack. Johanna leaned over toward Scrupilo. "What's going on?" she said wonderingly. "Why are single members getting medals?" And how can they stand to get so near another pack?

Scrupilo had been standing more stiffly at attention than most packs, and was pretty much ignoring her. Now he turned one head in her direction. "Shh!" He started to turn back, but she grabbed him by one of his jackets. "Foolish one," he finally replied. "The award is for the whole pack. One member is extended to accept. More would be madness."

Hmm. One after another, three more packs "extended a member" to take their decorations. Some were full of precision, like human soldiers in stories. Others started out smartly, then became timid and confused as they approached Woodcarver.

Finally Johanna said, "Ssst. Scrupilo! When do we get ours?"

This time he didn't even look at her; all his heads faced rigidly toward the Queen. "Last, of course. You and I killed the nest, and saved Woodcarver herself." His bodies were almost shaking with the intensity of their brace. He's scared witless. And suddenly Johanna guessed why. Apparently Woodcarver had no problem maintaining her mind with one outside member nearby. But the reverse would not be true. Sending one of yourself into another pack meant losing some consciousness and placing trust in that other pack. Looking at it that way… well, it reminded Johanna of the historical novels she used to play. On Nyjora during the Dark Age, ladies traditionally gave their sword to their queen when granted audience, and then knelt. It was a way to swear loyalty. Same thing here, except that looking at Scrupilo, Johanna realized that even as a matter of form, the ceremony might be damn frightening.

Three more medals bestowed, and then Woodcarver gobbled the chords that were Scrupilo's name. The Commander of Cannoneers went absolutely rigid, made faint whistling noises through his mouths. "Johanna Olsndot," said Woodcarver, then more Tinish, something about coming forward.

Johanna stood up, but not one of Scrupilo moved.

The Queen made a human laugh. She was holding two polished broaches. "I'll explain all in Samnorsk later, Johanna. Just come forward with one of Scrupilo. Scrupilo?"

Suddenly they were the center of attention, with thousands of eyes watching. There was no more arking or background chatter. Johanna hadn't felt so exposed since she played First Colonist in her school's Landing Play. She leaned down so that her head was close to one of Scrupilo's. "Come on, guy. We're the big heroes."

The eyes that looked back at her were wide. "I can't." The words were almost inaudible. For all his jaunty cannoneer muffs and standoffish manner, Scrupilo was terrified. But for him it wasn't stage fright. "I can't tear me apart so soon. I can't."

There was murmured gobbling in the ranks behind them, Scrupilo's own cannoneers. By all the Powers, would they hold this against him? Welcome to the middle ages. Stupid people. Even cut to pieces, Scrupilo had saved their behinds, and now — She put her hands on two of his shoulders. "We did it before, you and I. Remember?"

The heads nodded. "Some. That one part of me alone… could never have done it."

"Right. And neither could I. But together we killed a wolf-nest."

Scrupilo stared at her a second, eyes wavering. "Yes, we really did." He came to his feet, frisked his heads so the cannoneer muffs flapped. "Yes!" And he moved his white-headed one closer to her.

Johanna straightened. She and White Head walked out into the open space. Four meters. Six. She kept the fingertips of one hand lightly on his neck. When they were about twelve meters from the rest of Scrupilo, White Head's pace faltered. He looked sideways, up at Johanna, then continued more slowly.

Johanna didn't remember much of the ceremony, so much of her attention was on White Head. Woodcarver said something long and unintelligible. Somehow they both ended up with intricately carven decorations on their collars, and were headed back toward the rest of Scrupilo. Then she was aware of the crowd once more. They stretched as far as she could see under the forest canopy — and every one of them seemed to be cheering, Scrup's cannoneers loudest of all.

Midnight. Here at the bottom of the valley there were three or four hours of the dayaround when the sun dipped behind the high north wall. It didn't much feel like night, or even twilight. The smoke from the fires to the north seemed to getting worse. She could smell it now.

Johanna walked back from the cannoneers section toward the center of camp, and Woodcarver's tent. It was quiet; she could hear little creatures scritching in the root bushes. The celebrating might have gone on longer, except that everyone knew that in another few hours they would be preparing for the climb up the valley's north wall. So now there was only occasional laughter, an occasional pack walking about. Johanna walked barefoot, her shoes slung over her shoulders. Even in the dry weather, the moss was wonderfully soft between her toes. Above her the forest canopy was shifting green and patches of hazy sky. She could almost forget what had gone before, and what lay ahead.

The guards around Woodcarver's tent didn't challenge her, just called softly ahead. After all, there weren't that many humans running around. The Queen stuck out a head, "Come inside, Johanna."

Inside, she was sitting in her usual circle, the puppies protected in the middle. It was quite dark, the only light being what came through the entrance. Johanna flopped down on the pillows where she usually slept. Ever since this afternoon, the big award thing, she had been planning to give Woodcarver a piece of her mind. Now… well the party at the cannoneers had been a happy thing. It seemed kind of a shame to break the mood.