After this third cup Kerrick found that he liked to hear Hanath make stupid jokes—nor were they as stupid as always. Really quite funny. He was laughing so hard that he spilled most of his fourth cup and had to refill it. Morgil, who had been drinking twice as fast as the others, lay down, closed his eyes and began to snore. Kerrick sipped some more, then put his cup aside. He was beginning to understand why the manduktos only drank this on special occasions. Hanath was muttering to himself, laughing loudly at his own wit, so much so that he never noticed when Kerrick rose shakily to his feet and left. It was raining again, but now it did not bother him.

He walked slowly between the scattered tents, took great pleasure in the bustle and activity. Gray plumes of smoke rose up from the smokeholes to merge with misty rain. A woman called to another and there was the sound of sudden laughter. Nearby was a small meadow where the ground had been turned over, the tussocks of grass pulled out and thrown aside. The women had done this alone, since this was not suitable labor for hunters, and had carefully planted the charadis seed that Malagen had brought from the valley of the Sasku. The women all liked the softness of the cloth woven from the charadis fiber and were more than willing to grow the plants. Since the hunting had been so good there was now more than enough food for all. Time could be spared for the labors needed to raise the charadis. Cloth and strong pots: it was good to see these Sasku secrets being used now by the Tanu. Herilak emerged from his tent as Kerrick passed and called out in greeting.

“Was the hunting good?” Herilak asked.

“You were not there?”

“I found the tracks of large murgu to the north, two of them. I followed them with the death-stick.”

“It does not sicken?”

“I watch it, keep it where none can see it, it is well fed. I killed two murgu. The carrion eaters were on the bodies before I left.”

“There was too much rain for hunting. I brought back nothing. Others did better. All of the death-sticks do well, I talked with the others.”

The fear was always there now, had to be alleviated constantly. The death-sticks were their lives. Kerrick turned about too quickly and had to clutch a tree for support. Herilak frowned.

“You are ill?”

“No—but I have been drinking some new porro.”

“Then I understand. I have drunk it as well. Those two will be dead soon if they do not stop.”

“The new jar was very good.”

A woman called their names and they turned to Merrith who approached with a leaf-wrapped bundle. She opened it to reveal the still-smoking tubers inside.

“Baked in the fire,” she said. “I dug them yesterday.”