When they came down to the little bay the black form of the ikkergak, sail lowered, was rocking in the offshore shallows. There was waving and shouting as they splashed out to it: willing hands pulled them aboard. Angajorqaq was there, eyes round and worried in the smooth fur of her face, her hands clapped over her mouth.

“Alone,” she wailed. “The two boys—gone . . .”

Kalaleq clambered over to them while Armun was explaining about the children, lumps of deliciously rotten meat held out in welcome greeting.

“Eat, be happy, there are many things to be told about—” Kerrick stopped him with upraised hand.

“Slowly, please . . . understanding difficult.”

He had forgotten the little Paramutan he had learned during the winter; he called to Armun. She listened to the rush of words, then translated for him.

“They have gone—all of the rest of the Paramutan, across the ocean to a place he calls Allanivok. This ikkergak is the last one to leave. They have found the schools of ularuaq and a good shore where they can do something, I don’t know what the word means, flensing. They have taken everything, the small boats, the paukaruts, all the children, everyone.” There was fear in her voice when she said this.

“You think that if we go with them—we will never get back here? Ask him about it, now.”

“It is a long voyage,” Kalaleq said. “You will like it there—you won’t want to come back.”

“Thick of skull, eyes that cannot see!” Angajorqaq said loudly, striking him with her closed fist on his brown-furred arm. But it was a light blow, intended only to draw his attention to the importance of her words. “Tell Armun now that when she wishes to return to this land, that you will take her—or do you wish to separate her from her first-born male child for the rest of her life?”

Kalaleq smiled, frowned, struck himself on the forehead to show his chagrin. “Of course, an easy voyage, we will go when you want, this is never a problem to one who knows the winds and the sea as I do.”