She turned, slid into the water, swam away. He watched as the other joined her and the two of them clambered aboard the waiting uruketo. When it stood out to sea he turned and climbed the dune once again. The three dead Yilanè were as he had left them, although the flies had found them now. He bent and pulled the metal knife from Vaintè’s neck, plunged it into the sand to clean it. The corpses must be buried. And this last embrace of death was not acceptable. He pulled Nadaske’s body from atop Vaintè, closed his sightless eyes and straightened his body out upon the sand. As he turned to leave he remembered the nenitesk.

It was on a little ledge to the rear of Nadaske’s shelter. The metal of the sculpture cool on his fingers, the polished stones gleaming in the sunlight when he held it up.

The sculpture in one hand, his son’s knife in the other, he turned his back on the Yilanè and trudged off to join the Tanu.

ENVOY

These things happened and must be told. That is what the alladjex always says when he speaks of things past. Ashan etcheran wariadith, aur skennast man eis. That is the way it is said in Marbak. I don’t think I could say it any more in Sesek. Armun could, she has always been very good with other languages. In Paramutan it would be long and stretched out, something like Harvaqtangaq netsilikaktuvuk. We still see the Paramutan every year, to trade. The others trade, I go just for the pleasure of being with those strange, friendly people. Though we don’t trade porro with them, not since the first—and last—time. The broken arms and legs mended. But a gouged-out eye can’t grow back.