Jayan didn't blame the children. She loved Clave too. She would have kept him for herself, if she could . . . if not for Jinny. Sometimes she wondered if Jinny ever felt that way.

"Mmm . . . we'll pick some foliage before we leave the tuft-"

Jayan stopped working. "Clave, I never thought of that. There's no foliage on the trunk! We won't have anything to eat!"

"We'll find something. That's why we're going," Clave said briskly. "Thinking of changing your mind?"

"Too late," Jayan said. She didn't add that she had never wanted to go at alL There was no point, now.

"I could bust you loose. Jinny too. The citizens like you, they wouldn't let-"

"I won't stay." Not with Mayrin and the Chairman here, and Clave gone. She looked up and said, "Mayrin."

Clave's wife stood in the half-shadows on the far side of the Cornmona. She might have been there for some time. She was seven years older than dave, a stocky woman with the square jaw of her father, the Chairman. She called, "Clave, mighty hunter, what game are you play-

ing with this young woman when you might be finding meat for the citizens?"

"Orders."

She approached, smiling. "The expedition. My father and I arranged it together."

"If you'd like to believe that, feel free."

The smile slipped. "Copsik! You've mocked me too long, dave. You and them. I hope you fall into the sky."

"I hope I don't," Clave said mildly. "Would you like to assist our departure? We need blankets. Better have an extra. Nine."

"Fetch them yourself," Mayrin said and stalked away.

Here in the main depths of Quinn Tuft there were tunnels through the foliage. Huts nestled against the vertical flank of the branch, and the tunnels ran past. Now Harp and Gavving had room to walk, or something like it. In the low tidal pull they bounced on the foliage as if it and they were made of air. The branchiets around the tunnels were dry and nude, their foliage stripped for food.

Changes. The days had been longer before the passing of Gold. It used to be two days between sleeps; now it was eight. The Grad had tried to explain why, once, but the Scientist had caught them at it and whacked the Grad for spilling secrets and Gavving for listening.

Harp thought that the tree was dying. Well, Harp was a teller, and world-sized disasters make rich tales. But the Grad thought so too... and Gavving felt like the world had ended. He almost wanted it to end, before he had to tell the Chairman about his son.

He stopped to look into his own dwelling, a long half-cylinder, the bachelors' longhut. It was empty. Quinn Tribe must be gathered for the evening meal.

"We're in trouble," Gavving said and sniffled.

"Sure we are, but there's no point in acting like it. If we hide, we don't eat. Besides, we've got this." Harp hefted the dead musrum.