Tamir slipped off his camel. He rifled through his packs and pulled out a machete. The polished metal glinted in the light. The people around the fire paused in unison. “The debt is mine for your hospitality,” he said. His voice was deep and flat, maddeningly inexpressive. “A gift for you and yours.”

The old woman raised her eyebrows. “Quite the gift.”

“For your generosity.”

She took the machete and ran her finger along the blade. “And these men behind you, these new ones gray as the mountains, we should invite them into our homes, Tamir?”

Tamir glanced at Sorcha and I over his shoulder. “Shayat vouches for them.”

“Do you?”

He hesitated. “I vouch for Shayat,” he said.

The red elves laughed. Some of the tension broke, but they insisted on searching Sorcha and I before they would agree to let us stay there. They searched our bags, and they patted us down. Sorcha grinned the entire time, trading quips with the younger, more curious compounders. For my part, I clamped my jaw shut and let it pass over me. It reminded me a great deal of the border detainment the last time I’d tried to return to Rabatha. They took our camels, fed and watered them and nestled them into a small stable, which was empty but for a mule. They brought us into the lodge to eat and rest and smoke.

The lodge held one long, long room full of tables. Three fireplaces were built into the west wall at equal intervals, dividing the room in stripes of heat and cold during the night. The other wall was peppered with doors, which led to the large kitchen, closets, a loom room, a woodworker’s shop, and two or three storerooms. Ladders between the doors led up to lofts where the compounders slept. The lofts were tucked underneath the slanting roof. No walls divided one sleeping space from another. It was one long stretch of blankets and pillows dotted here and there with parcels of discarded clothing and stuffed toys. The children slept wedged into the narrow eaves with the adults on the interior to keep them from rolling down into the main hall. When we came in, clutches of very young children who had been napping popped up from nests of blankets. Sorcha smiled. “It’s like Falynn’s house, only bigger,” he said.

“Claim a bower for yourselves,” the old woman said, “but sleep not yet. A guest works, too, when there is work to be done.”

“Just bed down anywhere?” Sorcha asked.

“Anywhere what will have you, lad, aye.”