She stood observing in silence for almost half a day, listening and watching and trying to understand. In the end she understood nothing of what she had heard, but she did have the glimmerings of a plan where she should begin. She silently closed the hatch and went in search of Stallan.

“I’ll stay with you,” the huntress said as she unbarred the door. “They can be dangerous.”

“Just for a short time. As soon as they quiet down I will need to be alone with them. But then you will stand by outside. If there is any need I will call for you.”

An uncontrollable shiver rippled Enge’s crest as Stallan opened the door and she stepped through. The coarse smell of the beasts struck her. It was too much like entering an animal’s lair. But intelligence overcame physical revulsion and she stood firm as the door closed behind her.

“They killed my mother, then my brother, right beside me,” Ysel said. She had stopped the shrieking and crying now, but tears still filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, then went back to rubbing her shaved head.

“They killed everyone,” Kerrick said.

He had not cried, not once since he had been brought to this place. Perhaps it was the way the girl carried on, wailing and screaming all the time. She was older than he was, five or even six years older, yet she shrieked like an infant. Kerrick understood that, knew it was easy enough to do. All you had to do was give in. But he wouldn’t. A hunter does not cry — and he had been on a hunt. With his father. Amahast the greatest hunter. Now dead like all of the rest of the sammad. There was a swelling in his throat at the thought, but he fought it down. A hunter does not cry.

“Will they kill us, Kerrick? They won’t kill us, will they?” she asked.

“Yes.”

Ysel started to wail again and threw her arms about him, pulling his body tight against hers. This wasn’t right; only small children touched each other. But even though he knew that it was not permitted he still enjoyed the feel of her flesh against his. Her breasts were small and hard and he liked to touch them. But when he did this now she pushed him from her and cried even louder. He stood and walked away in disgust. She was stupid and he didn’t like her. She had never talked to him before they had been brought to this place. But now that there were just the two of them it was different for her. Not for him. It would have been better if one of his friends were here instead. But they were all dead; a pang of fear went through at the memory. No one else from the sammad left alive. They would be next. Ysel didn’t seem to understand that, she could not bring herself to believe that there was nothing they could do to save themselves. He had searched carefully, over and over again, but there wasn’t a thing in the wooden chamber that could be used for a weapon. Nor was there any way to escape. The gourds were too light to harm even a child. Much less one of the murgu who had brought them here. He picked up the gourd of water and sipped at it; his empty stomach rumbled. He was hungry — but not hungry enough to eat the meat they had brought. Just looking at it made him want to vomit. It wasn’t cooked — nor was it raw. Something had been done to it so that it hung from the bone like cold jelly. He poked at it with his finger and shuddered. The door creaked, then opened.

Ysel pressed her face to the base of the wall and screamed, her eyes closed, not wanting to see what came through. Kerrick stood, facing the opening, his fists clenched and empty. Thinking about his spear. What he would do to them if he only had his spear.

There were two of the murgu creatures this time. He might have seen them before, he might not. It made no difference, they all looked, alike. Bumpy, scaly, thick-tailed, blotched with different colors, with those ugly things sticking out behind their heads. Murgu that walked like men and grabbed things with their deformed two-thumbed hands. Kerrick moved slowly back as they entered, until his shoulders were against the wall and he could go no further. They stared at him with expressionless eyes and he wished again for his spear. One of them twitched and moved its limbs, making mewling noises at the same time. The wood was hard against his shoulders.

“Have they eaten anything yet?” Enge asked. Stallan signified negative, then pointed to the gourd.

“That’s good meat, enzyme-treated and ready to eat. They use fire to burn their own meat before they eat it, so I knew they wouldn’t want to have it raw.”

“Have you put some fruit out for them?”

“No. They are meat eaters.”

“They may be omnivores. We know little about their habits. Get some fruit.”

“I cannot leave you here alone. Vaintè herself ordered me to guard you.” There was a tremble of dismay to the hunter’s words caused by the conflicting orders.

“I can defend myself against these small creatures if I have to. Have they attacked anyone before this?”

“Just when we brought them in. The male is vicious. We beat him until he stopped. He hasn’t done it since then.”

“I shall be safe. You have followed your instructions. Now obey mine.”

Stallan had no choice. She left, reluctantly but quickly, and Enge waited in silence, searching for a way to open communication with the creatures. The female still lay facing the wall, once more making the high-pitched sound. The small male was silent, undoubtedly as stupid as all males. She reached down and took the female by the shoulder, pulled at her to turn her around. The creature’s skin was warm and not unpleasant to touch. The wailing sound grew louder — and sudden agony lanced through her arm.

Enge bellowed with pain and lashed out, knocking the male to the ground. The thing’s teeth had broken her skin, drawn blood. She arched her clawed fingers and hissed in anger. The creature scrabbled away from her and she followed. Then stopped. And felt guilt.

“We are at fault,” she said, anger ebbing away. “We killed the rest of your pack. You cannot be blamed for doing what you did.” She rubbed at her sore arm, then looked at the bright stain of blood on her palm. The door opened and Stallan came in, carrying a gourd of orange fruit.

“The male creature bit me,” Enge said calmly. “Are they poisonous?”

Stallan hurled the gourd aside and rushed to her side, glanced at the wound — then raised a hard fist to strike the cowering male. Enge restrained her with a light touch.

“No. The fault was mine. Now, what about the bite?”

“Not dangerous if it is cleaned well. You must come with me so I can treat it.”

“No, I shall wait here. I don t want to show fear to these animals. I will be all right.”

Stallan moved with disapproval, but could do nothing. She hurried out, was gone for only a brief time before returning with a wooden chest. From it she took a container of water and used it to cleanse the bite, then stripped the cover from a nefmakel and put it into position. Enge’s moist skin stirred the dormant creature to life and it adhered to her flesh, already beginning to secrete antibacterial fluid. As soon as this was done Stallan took two knotted black lumps from the box.

“I’m going to secure the male’s legs and arms. It won’t be the first time. The creature is vicious.”

The small male fought to escape but Stallan seized it and hurled it to the floor, then knelt on its back, holding it still with one hand. With the other she seized one of the bindings and wrapped it around the beast’s ankles, then inserted the binding’s tail into its mouth. The binding swallowed by reflex, drawing its body tight. Only when it was well-secured did Stallan throw the creature aside.