He stayed crouched in his tree all one night long, though the rain came without a break in great heavy drops. What was the use of going home? Minbain was busy with her little one; she had no interest in coupling these days. And the rain, at least, cooled his anger somewhat.

In the morning sunlight struck him suddenly, like a slap across the mouth. Harruel blinked groggily and stared and sat up, wondering where he was. Then he remembered that he had slept in the tree.

For one startled moment he thought he saw golden-spiked helmets all along the jagged rim of the ridge to his left. The invasion at last? No. No. Only the morning light, low along the horizon, cutting through the droplets of water that glistened on every leaf.

He swung himself to the ground and went limping off toward the city to see about something to eat.

A figure came into view when he was about halfway down the mountain. He thought at first it might be Salaman or Sachkor, coming to look for him now that the rain had ended. But no: this was a woman. A girl. She was tall and slim, with fur of an unusual deep black hue. Harruel recognized her after a moment as young Kreun, Sachkor’s beloved, the daughter of old Thalippa. She was waving to him, calling.

“I’m looking for Sachkor! Is he with you?”

Harruel stared, making no reply. He had coupled once with Thalippa, many years ago. A hot one, Thalippa had been, back then. After all this time the memory of it came gliding up out of the depths of his mind. She had scratched him with her claws, Thalippa had. He remembered the strong sweet musky odor of her. Amazing, after fifteen years, remembering that. Half his life ago.

“Nobody knows where he is,” Kreun said. “He was here yesterday morning, and then he vanished. I went to the place where all the young men stay, but he wasn’t there. Salaman thought he might be up here on the mountain with you.”

Harruel shrugged. At another time all that might have mattered. But now a strange spell gripped his spirit.

“It’s been such a long time, Thalippa.”

“What?”

“Come here. Come closer. Let me look at you. Thalippa.”

“I’m Kreun. Thalippa’s my mother.”

“Kreun?” he said, as if he had never heard the name before. “Oh. Yes. Kreun.”

He felt red heat between his legs, and a terrible numbing ache. Days and days in that tree, and now a whole night too, sitting up there in the rain. Guarding these foolish people, these silly heedless people. Protecting them against an enemy they refused even to believe in. While the days of his life went idly ticking by, and all the world was waiting for his embrace.

“Is something wrong with you, Harruel? You look so peculiar.”

“Thalippa—”

“No, I’m Kreun!” And now she was backing away from him, looking frightened.

Sachkor was right to babble so much about her. Kreun was very beautiful. Those long slender legs, that deep rich fur, the bright green eyes now sparkling with fear. Odd that he had never noticed that, how good-looking Kreun was; but of course she was young, and one paid no attention to girls until they had reached twining-age. She was a marvel. Minbain was warm and good and loving but she had left her beauty years behind her. Kreun was just growing into hers.

“Wait,” Harruel called.

Kreun halted, frowning, uncertain. He stumbled down the path toward her. As he drew near she gasped and tried to run, but he reached out with his sensing-organ and caught her about the throat. There was a tingling coming from her: he felt it and it redoubled his frenzy. Easily he pulled her toward him, grabbed her by the shoulder, threw her facedown on the wet ground.

“No — please—” she cried.

She tried to crawl away, but she stood no chance against him. He fell on top of her and gripped her arms from behind. The heat in his loins was unbearable now. Somewhere deep within his mind a quiet voice insisted that what he was doing was wrong, that a woman must not be taken against her will, that the gods would exact a price from him for this. But it was impossible for Harruel to fight the fury, the rage, the need that had overwhelmed him. He pressed his thighs against her smooth furry rump, and thrust. She uttered a thick cry of pain and horror. “It is my right,” Harruel said to her, over and over, as he moved against her. “I am the king. It is my right.”

Koshmar said, “So it is to be Lakkamai for you, is it?”

It was the third day since the end of the time of rains. Koshmar and Torlyri were together in the house they shared, at nightfall, after dinner, when all the tribe had gathered to observe the midwinter ceremony of the Provider: all but the mysteriously absent Sachkor, for whom daily searches were now being undertaken.

Torlyri, who had been lounging, sat swiftly upright. Koshmar had never seen such an expression on Torlyri’s face before: fear, and a kind of sheepish guilt, and something close to defiance, all mixed together.

“You know?” she said.

Koshmar laughed harshly. “Who doesn’t? Do you think I’m a child, Torlyri? The two of you making eyes at each other all over the settlement for weeks — and you, mentioning Lakkamai’s name in every third thing you say, you who could go a year and a half without ever once having occasion to speak of him—”

Torlyri looked down, abashed. “Are you angry with me, Koshmar?”

“Do I sound angry? That you should be happy?” But in fact Koshmar was troubled more than she had imagined she would be. She had known for a long while that something like this was coming, and had told herself that she would be strong when it did. But now that it was here, it was like a huge weight on her heart. She said, after a moment, “You’ve been coupling with him already, have you?”

“Yes.” Torlyri could barely be heard.

“You used to do that, a long time ago, when we were girls. It was Samnibolon you did it with, I recall. Minbain’s Samnibolon, am I right?”

Torlyri nodded. “And one or two others, yes. But I was very young then. It has been an extremely long time.”

“And you find pleasure in it?”

“I do now,” said Torlyri softly. “There was nothing for me in it, those times long ago. But there is now.”

“Great pleasure?”

“Sometimes,” said Torlyri, huskily, guiltily.

“I am very glad for you,” Koshmar said, her voice high and tight. “I never could see the sense of coupling, you know. But they tell me it has its rewards.”

“Perhaps it must be done with just the right person.”

Koshmar snorted. “For me there is no right person, and you know it! If you were a man, Torlyri, I’d couple gladly with you, I think. But we have our twining, you and I. We have our twining, and that’s sufficient for me. A chieftain doesn’t need coupling.”

Nor does an offering-woman, Koshmar added silently.

She glanced away so that Torlyri would not see the thought in her eyes. She had sworn not to interfere with what Torlyri was doing, however painful it might become for her.

Torlyri said, “Speaking of twining—”

“Yes, speak of twining, Torlyri! Speak of it anytime.” Sudden eagerness made Koshmar’s breath come quickly. The deeper Torlyri’s involvement with Lakkamai became, the more eager Koshmar was for any token of affection from her. “Now? Right now? Certainly. Come.”

Torlyri looked surprised and perhaps not pleased. “If you wish, of course, Koshmar. But that was not what I was starting to say.”

“Oh?”

“It’s time for Hresh’s twining-day, is what I was beginning to tell you. If I can manage to get him away from his machines and his Wonderstone long enough, I have to take him aside for his initiation.”

“Already,” Koshmar said, shaking her head. “Hresh’s twining-day.”

That was one of the offering-woman’s tasks, to initiate the young people into the way of twining, and Torlyri had always performed it with great care and love. Koshmar had never minded all those shared twinings, though twining was so much more intimate than coupling. Initiating the young was Torlyri’s god-given task. If any of this made sense, Koshmar thought, I should be more troubled by her twining with Hresh than by her coupling with Lakkamai. Yet it is the other way around. Torlyri’s twining with the young was no threat to her. But her coupling with Lakkamai — her coupling with Lakkamai—