They listened and nodded and swelled with pride in what they had done. The pipe passed from hand to hand, Fraken chanted the story of their victories, his voice rising and falling with passion as everyone, even the women and small children, grouped around, listening intently. Even when he had done they were silent, remembering. It was something to remember, something very important.

The fire had died down; Kerrick reached out and threw more wood on it, then sat back dizzily. The smoke from the pipe was strong and he was not used to it. Fraken wrapped his furs about him and went wearily to his tent. The sammads drifted away as well until Kerrick saw that only a few hunters remained. Herilak staring into the fire, Har-Havola at his side, nodding and half asleep. Herilak looked up at Kerrick.

“They are happy now,” he said. “At peace. It is good that they feel that way for awhile. It has been a long and bitter winter. Let them forget this winter before they think of the next one. Forget the death-stick murgu too.”

He was silent then for a long time before he looked up at Kerrick and spoke. “We killed many. Perhaps now they will forget about us too. Leave us alone.”

Kerrick wanted to answer differently but knew that he could not. He shook his head unhappily and Herilak sighed.

“They will come again,” Kerrick said. “I know these murgu. They hate us just as much as we hate them. If you could, would you destroy them all?”

“Instantly. Filled with great pleasure.”

“They feel the same as you do.”

“Then what must we do? The summer will be a short one. The hunting may be good, we don’t know. But then the next winter will be upon us and what will we do then? If we go east to the coast to hunt, the murgu will find us there. South again, well, we know what happened in the south. And the north remains frozen.”

“The mountains,” Har-Havola said, the voices pulling him awake. “We must go beyond the mountains.”

“But your sammad is from beyond the mountains,” Herilak said. “You came here because there was no hunting.”

Har-Havola shook his head. “That is your name for my sammad, from beyond the mountains. But what you speak of as mountains are merely hills. Beyond them are the true mountains. Reaching to the sky with unmelting snow upon their summits. Those are mountains.”

“I have heard of them,” Herilak said. “I have heard that they cannot be passed, that it is death to try.”

“It can be. If you do not know the high passes, then winter will come and trap you and you will die. But Munan, a hunter of my sammad, has been past the mountains.”

“The murgu do not know of these mountains,” Kerrick said, sudden hope in his voice. “They never spoke of them. What lies beyond them?”