The shadow in the open doorway was a tem’ondra, a stubby worker three segments shorter than his lean counterparts. He’d led them from the reception and down tunnelled corridors until they stood in the dining hall, a massive area that looked like the interior of a cave. Curved ceilings, soft overhead lights, a library alcove and an empty trestle table in the heart of the room, places for twenty. The tem’ondra stood to one side, head lowered, mandibles still, claws twitching. The hunters ignored her, as was the custom towards lower members of their own hierarchy, moving forward in unison towards a figure who approached. A human, Ula saw, as she stepped from the shadows.

‘Kaluz maadram …’

‘Kaluz ballamor …’

The greeting was repeated by the tem’ondri, who held her hands and bowed. Her response was the same to each. Ula followed their lead, taking her hands, bowing even as he caught sight of her eyes, even as he was struck by her long scarlet dress, the obviousness of her beauty.

‘Kaluz maadram …’

‘Kaluz ballamor …’

Her hands were still in his. She’d greeted them in the traditional manner and her Mon’draan was impeccable. He raised his head. She was his equal in height, long dark hair, blue eyes he recalled from distant memory and books, skin like the clouds both planets shared. Her hands were soft as his son’s had been, years ago, when he was an infant, long before he worked the fields. Her fingers were delicate, slim, nails painted translucent pink. Not many ancestors of this type had made the journey centuries ago, but there had been some, the poorest. Ula saw their descendants every once in a while, whenever he travelled to the big cities to trade, but he hadn’t been this close to such humans in an age.

The woman relaxed her hands, smiling faintly. The tem’ondri watched, silent. Their tension was clear.

‘You’re shocked?’ she said.

‘A little. There aren’t many of your kind.’

There was no shame in his admittance. Her question betrayed understanding.

‘My people are from Daar Quen, the east. Many ancestors settled there during the migration.’

‘Ah, yes. My father told me. He said the people of Daar Quen are very beautiful.’

Her smile grew. She blushed. Ula heard a whispered chorus, beautiful, beautiful. He shivered.

‘As are the people of the north,’ she said.

‘Excellent,’ Vrawn said from across the room. ‘You accept each other.’

‘It is better than I had hoped,’ Vrax chattered. ‘We will leave you to paint yourselves.’

‘You mean acquaint themselves, surely?’ Vrawn broke in, turning to the humans when her sister fell silent. ‘We struggle with the language.’

‘We understand,’ the woman said.

‘It’s fine,’ Ula agreed. His hands were growing warm, only he didn’t let go.