‘And ten of the remaining clans number less than five bundles in their lineage. Yes. We know how many we lost.”

“How can this be?” The merchant slapped his own chest three times. “I am born into Rabbit Clan. Here in the land I find no house to welcome me!”

“There are others of the Rabbit Clan among those who survived in the shadows,” said Eldest Uncle, “or so I am told.”

“How could you let the clans die?” the man roared.

Eldest Uncle smiled sadly. “How can you know how it felt to watch the people die of hunger and thirst as the land failed? To smell the stench of the sickness that afflicted us? To watch fathers sing the death rites over their only child, and then fall themselves as their strength failed? What do you know of bones left to bleach on the hillside? Hu-ah! What could you have done better than what we did!”

Age gave a man power. Eldest Uncle, as well, was known as a sorcerer. He was a seeker after the grains of truth hidden in the mantle thrown over the universe which most folk call the world, for what most folk call the world is really only the things we can touch and smell and taste and hear and see.

“My apologies,” said the merchant. He set hands on knees and inclined his head, just a pinch, toward the old man. “You must see how it appears to us, to wander in the shadows for so long, watching the Pale Dogs swarm over the Earth we love. To return at last to find our homeland …”He wiped away a tear, and this show of emotion seemed so unforced and genuine that Feather Cloak found her throat choked and her own eyes filling. “It is a land of bones.”

“So it became,” said Eldest Uncle. “So many died. We struggled to stay alive.”

“I am not finished.” Zuangua raised his forefinger, and showed the back of his hand to his brother, to all of them, open now except for the folded thumb. “Four. In the days I remember, the Feathered Cloak rose from the high lineages marked out by the gods from the heirs of Obsidian Snake, who led us over the seas.”

For the first time, he looked at Feather Cloak directly. His regard distracted Feather Cloak for a moment, as it always did. His features were attractive, his bronzed complexion a handsome shade. He wore his long black hair unbound so its glossy fall would dazzle women’s eyes. Yet one might admire in this same fashion Cat Mask and other warriors she had known all her life. There was this difference: Zuangua had the look of a well-made sword already whetted in battle. Compared to him, the others had no shine and no edge.

His smile was a challenge. She lifted a brow in response, refusing to be baited, not by his challenge and not by his sexuality. Still, it did her no harm to let him see she found him handsome. Some men, receiving women’s regard, puffed up until their vanity made them foolish. It would be interesting to see if Zuangua would succumb to that fault.