Nadaske emerged in time to hear this and signed pleased gratitude. Kerrick watched as they shouldered their rolled nets, secured their hèsotsan so that it rode high, then eased themselves into the water, to swim off easily along the reed-covered shore. They had come a long way from their protected existence in the hanalè of the city. They were now strong and secure individuals in their own right. A shrill ululation sounded behind him and he turned to see Arnwheet calling out and waving to him.

“We are here, Atta,” he said.

Kerrick walked over and saw Ortnar standing in the shadows. As always the wooden crutch was tucked under his left arm, supporting his weight. The falling sickness had not killed him, but the strength had never truly returned to his left side. His leg dragged and his arm had just enough strength to hold to the wooden support. With its aid he could limp along, slowly but steadily. There must have been pain, though he never mentioned it, because sharp grooves were cut in the skin below his eyes; he never smiled. But the strength of his right arm had not been affected and the spear he held was as deadly as ever. He tipped it towards Kerrick now in silent greeting.

“Shall we have good hunting?” Kerrick asked.

“That—and good eating. There are many of them there, but one fat one that lives in the tree, that is the one we must try to get. I have watched it.”

“Then show us the way.”

The two boys had bows as well as spears, but Kerrick brought only his hèsotsan. The cool length of the living weapon stirred in his hands as he walked last in the column. The darts that it spat forth were instant death for any creature, no matter how large. Without this Yilanè weapon, death-stick the Tanu called it, life would have been impossible in the forest. Their spears and arrows could not kill the large murgu that roamed here. Only the Yilanè poison could do that. They had only three of the weapons now, one had died, drowned by accident. It was irreplaceable. When the other three died—then what? But they were not dead yet, it was too early to worry. Kerrick shrugged off the dark thought. Better to think of the hunt and the sweet flesh cooking in the fire.

They walked in silence along the forest track—even more silently when Ortnar touched the spear shaft to his lips. It was hot in the still air under the trees and they were quickly drenched in perspiration. Ortnar pointed to a large-boled tree, at the thick branches high above.

“There,” he whispered, “you can see the opening of the lair.” A squat dark form scurried along the branch and Arnwheet giggled with excitement until hushed by Ortnar’s sharp gesture.