The sky was beginning to cloud over and there was the smell of rain in the air. The leaves would be falling soon in the north, the first snows were on their way. Here the nights might be cooler, little else changed. The path led down to the swamp. It was deep in places so Kerrick carried Arnwheet on his shoulders through the green water. They swam the inlet to the island on the other side. Arnwheet called out attention to speaking shrilly and Nadaske emerged from his shelter to greet them. There was pleasure of talking in his movements.

“To one who hears only the waves, voices of friends are like songs.”

“What are songs?” Arnwheet asked, imitating Nadaske’s movements and sounds for the new word. Kerrick started to explain, then stopped. Arnwheet was here to listen and learn; he was not going to interfere.

“You have never heard a song? Perhaps because I have never sung one for you. I remember one that Esetta* used to sing.”

He sang hoarsely, disturbed by memories.

Young I go, once to the beach,

and I return.

Twice I go, no longer young,

will I return?

But not a third . . .

Nadaske broke off suddenly, sat staring sightlessly across the water, seeing only memories.

Kerrick had heard the song before, in the hanalè where the males had been imprisoned. He had not understood it then. He did now, knew all there was to know about death on the beaches.

“Did someone swim on the beach and drown?” Arnwheet asked, aware of the unhappiness in the song, but not understanding it. Nadaske turned an eye in his direction, but did not speak.

“Do you eat well?” Kerrick asked. “If you are tired of fish I can bring meat . . .” He grew silent when he realized that Nadaske was not listening.

Arnwheet ran over and took Nadaske by one of his thumbs and shook it. “Aren’t you going to finish the song?”

Nadaske looked down at the boy, then signed inability. “It is a very sad song and one I should not have sung.” He carefully pulled his thumb free and looked towards Kerrick. “But this feeling has been growing since I have been here. What is to become of me? Why am I here?” The weariness with which he spoke muffled his motions, but his meaning was clear.

“You are here because we are efenselè and I brought you here,” Kerrick said, worried. “I could not leave you alone back there.”

“Perhaps you should have. Perhaps I should have died when Imehei died. For two there was something. For one there is nothing.”

“We are here, Nadaske. We are your efenburu now. Arnwheet has many things to learn that only you can teach him.”

Nadaske stirred and thought about this, and when he answered some of the great sadness was gone.