Rather asked, "We want this?"

"We do. Secret auction, I think." Booce was deep into the crater, running his hands over the reddish-black surface of the metal. "Six or eight thousand kilos. No point in trying to move it. We'll have to show it to the Navy anyway, unless . . . hmm."

Carlot looked at her father. "We don't want to attract attention."

"Exactly. I have to think about this. Well, my merry crew, I think we've earned a holiday."

They climbed back around the trunk, taking their time. Booce knew just where to find the shelled burrowers. After lunch they spent a day tethered in the now strongly running waterfall, first washing each other and squeezing honey out of their clothing, then wrestling. They still got some painting in before sleeptime.

In twenty days they had reached the wild tuft.

Rather had never appreciated foliage before. It had surrounded him all his life. He gorged, savoring the taste and texture. "You love it too," he observed. "Carlot, Booce, why don't you live in a tree?"

"Oh, there's foliage in the Clump too," Carlot said. "All kinds. Rather, I can't wait to show you!"

They slept in foliage. Rather slept like a dead man, from exhaustion and the familiar sensation of sleeping under tide, in a womb of soft foliage. He woke early, feeling wonderful.

Carlot lay not far from her father. Her face was griefstricken. She thrashed in slow motion, unconsciously trying to hold herself against the tide.

Rather took her hand, gently. "Hey. Nightmare?"

Her eyes opened. '"Oh. Rather. I was trying to get to Wend. She was screaming and trying to fly with just her bare feet-" She shook her head violently and sat up. "Something I have to tell you."

"Okay."

"When we were swimming. Father noticed you were

up."

"Up? Oh, up. You're very pretty," Rather said a little awkwardly.

"We can't make babies."

"We can't? Hey, the jungle giants and the London Tree citizens didn't have any trouble. I'm a dwarf, but-"

Carlot laughed. "Father says we can't. He wants me to marry another logger. I think he wants it to be Raff Belmy, from Woodsman, but definitely another logger. I thought I'd better say something before . . . well, before you got to thinking."

"Thinking. Well, it's too late, then."

"It's all right, then?"

"Sure. Go back to sleep." The truth was that Rather was almost relieved. Carlot with her clothes off made his head swim and his blood boil: an uncomfortable feeling.

And Booce didn't want his daughter to love a dwarf savage. Should he resent that? Somehow he didn't.

Breakfast was more foliage. Then Booce gave Rather the matchet. "Pry the bark off. We want a complete ring of bare wood half a meter across. We'll paint along behind

you."