Herilak unlashed a bag of ekkotaz from the travois and they dipped out handfuls of the delicious mixture, dried berries and nutmeat, pounded together. Kerrick had been a boy when he last tasted it and childhood memories flooded back as he licked it from his fingers. It was good to be Tanu. But even as he thought this he was scratching at his waist, over and over. When he pulled the fur back he saw the red bites. His skin crawled as he realized that the brave hunter who had last worn these furs had been infested with fleas. Suddenly being Tanu was not that pleasant. His back was sore from lying on the hard ground, his muscles ached from the unaccustomed exercise—and if that wasn’t enough there was a sudden spasm of pain in his midriff. The burnt and tough meat was not sitting too well in his stomach; he hurried behind the nearest clump of bushes.

Racked with cramps he saw the flea crawl across his discarded garments. He cracked it between his fingernail, then wiped his fingers disgustedly on the grass. He was filthy and sore, flea-infested and ill. What was he doing here with these crude ustuzou? Why wasn’t he in Alpèasak? He had been comfortable there, at peace, close to the Eistaa. Why couldn’t he return? Vaintè was dead of a spear thrust—but who in the city knew that he had wielded the spear? He hadn’t been seen. Why couldn’t he go back?

He washed himself well, then went a few paces upstream to drink. On the bank the two hunters were lashing the load back onto the travois. They could go on without him.

But did he want to go back to Alpèasak? For years he had been thinking of escape from the city—and now he was free. Wasn’t that what he had always wanted? That was the Yilanè’s world, not his. There was no place for him there.

But was there a place for him among the Tanu?

He stood knee-deep in the cool water, his fists clenched. Lost. Belonging neither to one world nor the other. Outcast and alone.

Herilak called out to him, his words cutting through Kerrick’s dark thoughts. He waded ashore, then pulled his garments slowly on.

“We leave now,” Herilak said.

“Where do you go?” Kerrick asked, still torn by conflicting feelings.

“West. To find other hunters. To return with them and kill murgu.”

“They are too strong, too many.”

“Then I will be dead and my tharm will join the tharms of the other hunters in my sammad. But first I will have avenged them. It is a good way to die.”

“There are no good ways to die.”