The fire crackled and a log fell in and it was a long time before Sanone answered. “No, I do not wish to take them away from this valley. We have always lived here. It is fit and right that if we are to die that we should die here.”

“I do not wish to die—but I am tired of running. So are my sammads. I will lead them away from here if they wish to go, but I think they feel as we do. The time for running has ended. Sooner or later we must stop and take a stand against the murgu. Let it be sooner. We are all tired.”

“The water in the river is lower than it should be. This time of year the rains in the mountains fill it to the banks.”

“I will take some hunters in the morning, follow it back toward the hills. Do you think this is some murgu doing?”

“I do not know. But I fear.”

“We all fear, mandukto. The murgu drift toward us like the snows of winter and are just as hard to stop. One of the women saw green vines growing down from the cliff tops. She said that she could not get close but they had the look of murgu poison vines.”

“The cliffs are high.”

“The vines grow long. When I sleep I dream of a death song. Do you know what that means?”

Sanone’s smile was cold and grim. “You do not need a mandukto to read that dream, strong Herilak. I hear death songs too.”

Herilak looked up grimly at the stars. “When we are born we begin dying. I know my tharm will be up there one day. It is just the closeness of that day that chills me more than this wind. Is there nothing we can do?”

“Kerrick once led us against the murgu, led in victory.”

“Do not speak his name. He has gone and left us to die. He will lead us no longer.”

“Did he leave you—or did you leave him, strong Herilak?” Sanone asked quietly.