As I have said before, the Droma do not rush into decisions. There was no reason for us to resettle until we needed to, and there was enough grass to sustain both herds. The proximity to the Allunga made life a little more difficult for our herders, who had to make sure they were herding just our livestock and that they had not inadvertently stolen any goats or yaks or antelope from the Allunga, but otherwise there was not much for us to do but wait. Our patience did, eventually, pay off: it took a few weeks, but the Allunga discussed it and traded stories and thought on it and came to the conclusion that I was not a threat. One morning just as high summer peaked and the days began to cool, young Allunga runners clattered into our camp. They were greeted warmly, and they returned the warmth. We fed them, and they told stories to the children, and the unpaired Rishnallas welcomed them into their yurt for the night. At dinner, one of the runners came and sat next to me. Ve cleared vis throat, and conversation died around the table. “Avolayla Vrala Ariah,” ve said, “our clan requests your presence in our camp.”

I stole a glance at Halaavi. Laavi nodded at me. “I am glad to accept. May I ask why?”

The Allunga runner smiled and ran a hand over vis shorn scalp. “Well, some of us are curious. Some of us are afraid and don’t want to be. But we ask your presence because we may have news for you.”

“For me?”

“Maybe. We’ll find out when you come back with us.” Halaavi drifted over. The Allunga runner pointed at us each in turn. “Shared skin?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Ve is welcome, too, of course,” the Allunga runner said.

“When do we leave?” Halaavi asked.

The runner shrugged and ate a bit of goat cheese. “Tomorrow, the day after. Whenever seems a good time. Can you run?”

“Yes,” Halaavi said.

“No,” I said. Halaavi glanced over at me and laughed.

The Allunga runner shrugged. “We can go slow. Time is endless.”

We left the Avolayla camp two days later just before dawn. The Allunga runners went slowly for me; I walked the entire way. The Allunga runners were a rowdy, young, half-grown bunch. They ran around us while Halaavi and I walked. They struck off on odd little forays, tackled and wrestled each other in the high grass. One challenged Halaavi to a race, and Halaavi grinned and sprinted off. The Allunga won, but not by as wide a margin as ve expected. Halaavi earned the grudging respect of the Allunga runners, and some of that respect bled over to me by association.