“What is wrong?” Herilak asked, looking for wounds or blood and seeing none.

“Porro,” Hanath said hoarsely, pointing to the clay pot standing inside the opening of their tent. “Not too good.”

“You should have thought of that before you stole it.”

“Stolen porro was very good,” he said, smacking his lips dryly. “It is when we make it that something happens. It tastes right, but makes a hunter feel very sick next day.”

“You have been making it? How?” Herilak looked into the pot and twitched his nose at the smell.

“Easy enough to do. We watched how they did it, many times at night. They aren’t good hunters, we crawled right on top of them. It is easy to make, you just take the ground up things they grow, the tagaso. Put it in water, put it in the sun, put in the moss, that is all there is to it.”

Morgil stirred and opened one bloodshot eye and groaned. “It must have been the moss. I think we used too much moss.”

Herilak had enough of their foolishness. “The sammads are leaving.”

“We’ll follow. Maybe tomorrow. We will be all right.”

“Not if you drink any more of this,” Herilak said and kicked over the pot so the porro poured out and soaked into the ground. It smelled awful.

“It could only have been the moss,” Morgil said weakly.

Kerrick looked at the baby and was worried.

“Has she a sickness? Her eyes are open at last but they roll around and around and I don’t think that she can see.”

Armun laughed loudly at that, a clear and happy sound. “You do not remember when Arnwheet’s eyes were just like this? It is the same for all babies. Ysel will see very well. It just takes time.”

“And you, are you ready to walk?”

“I have been telling you for days now that I am strong. And I want to leave this lake.” She did not look across at the other encampment but he knew what she was thinking. He knew that he had been putting off their departure, but could do so no longer. Everything that they were taking was rolled into bundles and secured to the two travois. It was a small portion of a mastodon’s load—but they had no mastodon. What they took was limited to the amount he and Harl could pull. Armun and Darras would take care of the baby. Arnwheet would carry spear and bow. If Ortnar carried himself that was burden enough. The time had come to leave.

Flies swarmed on the hindquarters of a freshly butchered deer that was too much for them to take. The males would appreciate it. He brushed off the flies, seized it up and swung it onto his shoulder.

“We won’t leave this to rot. As soon as I get back we will go.”