“What did you say?” Angajorqaq called out, pushing aside the skins that hung in the open doorway as she emerged from the hut—stopping rigid when she saw the newcomers there.

“Look how their hair shines! Their skins, so white. Are they Tanu?” she asked.

“They are.”

“Where are the hunters?”

“I have no knowledge—I see but these.”

“A woman, a child, a baby. Their hunter must be dead if they are alone and they will grieve. Speak to them, make them at ease.”

Kalaleq sighed heavily. “I have no skill in their tongue. I can say only meat and water and goodbye.”

“Do not say goodbye yet. Offer water, that is always nice.”

Armun’s first fear was eased when the furry-faced one dropped his knife and stepped back. He was a Paramutan, if he were here on the shore, one of the hunters who lived always in the north by the sea. She had heard of them but had never seen one before. Slowly she lowered the point of her spear, yet still gripped it tightly when another one of them emerged from the hut. But it was a woman, not another hunter, and she was greatly relieved. The two of them talked in incomprehensible, high-pitched voices. Then the hunter smiled broadly and spoke a single word.

“Waw-terr.” The smile faded when she did not respond and he repeated it. “Waw-terr, waw-terr!”

“Is he saying water?” Harl asked.

“Perhaps he is. Water, yes—water.” She nodded and smiled as well and the dark woman slipped back into the tent. When she emerged again she was carrying a black leather cup; she held it out. Harl stepped forward and took it, looked inside—then drank.

“Water,” he said. “Tastes terrible.”

His words disarmed Armun. Her fear was gone but was replaced by a great tiredness, so much so that she swayed and had to jam the butt of the spear into the ground and lean on it for support. The sight of the friendly, fur-covered faces, the knowledge that she was no longer alone let in the fatigue she had so long kept at bay. The other woman saw this and waddled quickly over to her, took the spear from her loose grasp and eased her down to the ground. Armun submitted without thinking, there seemed no danger here—and if there were it was too late to turn back. The baby was crying so lustily now that she had to stand and take him up, balance him on one hip while she found a piece of smoked meat for him to suck upon. The Paramutan woman made appreciative clucking noises as she reached down and touched Arnwheet’s pale hair.