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carrying their wares in packs on their
backs, sometimes a train with beasts of burden. The magnitude of
their coming depended upon what the Wise of the packs had ordered
the summer before.
    The dreamers Marika and Kublin awaited their coming with an
anticipation greater than that of their packmates. They plagued the
outsiders with ten thousand questions, none of which they seemed to
mind. They answered in amusement, spinning wondrous tales. Some
were so tall Marika accused them of lying. That amused them even
more.
    In the year of Machen Cave the anticipation was especially high,
for Saettle had ordered a new book brought to the packstead, and
much of the winter before the huntresses of Skiljan’s
loghouse had trapped otec to acquire furs sufficient to pay for it.
The snows were gone and the fields were plowed. The greater and
lesser moons approached the proper conjunction. The excitement was
barely restrained. It was near time for spring rites as well as for
the advent of strangers.
    But the tradermales did not come.
    While they were days late, no one worried. When they were weeks
behind, meth wondered, and messengers ran between packsteads asking
if tradermales had been seen. There was grave concern among packs
which had ordered goods the lack of which might make surviving
winter difficult.
    They were very late, but they did come at last, without an
explanation of why. They were less friendly than in the past, more
hurried and harried, lacking in patience. At most packsteads they
remained only hours before moving along. There was little spreading
of news or telling of tales.
    At the Degnan packstead a group nighted over, for the Degnan
packstead was known as one of the most comfortable and hospitable.
The traders told a few tales by firelight in the square at the
center of the packstead, as though in token for their keep. But
everyone could tell their hearts were not in the storytelling.
    Marika and Kublin cornered an old tradermale they had seen every
year they could recall, one who had befriended them in the past and
remembered their names from summer to summer. Never shy, Marika
asked, “What is the matter this summer, Khronen? Why did you
come so late? Why are you all so unhappy?”
    This old male was not as grave as the others. One reason they
liked him so was that he was a jolly sort, still possessing some of
the mischief of a pup. A bit of that shone through now. “The
greater world, pups. The greater world. Odd things are stirring. A
taint of them has reached this far.”
    Marika did not understand. She said so.
    “Well, little one, consider our brotherhood as a pack
stretching across all the world. Now think about what happens when
there is argument between loghouses in your packstead. The
loghouses of the brotherhood are at odds. There has been heated
division. Everyone is frightened of what it may mean. We are all
anxious to finish the season and return, lest something be missed
in our absence. Do you see that?”
    Both pups understood well enough. Skiljan and Gerrien often
allied against other heads of loghouse. Within Skiljan’s
loghouse itself there was factionalism, especially among the Wise.
The old females plotted and skirmished and betrayed one another in
small ways, constantly, for the amusement of it. They were too old
to be entertained by anything else.
    Skiljan joined Marika, Kublin, and the old tradermale. She
called him by name and, when the pups were surprised, admitted,
“I have known Khronen many years. Since he was only a year
older that Kublin.”
    Khronen nodded. “Since before I joined the
traders.”
    “You are Degnan?” Marika asked.
    “No. I was Laspe. Your dam and I encountered one another
down by the river when we were your age. She tried to poach some
Laspe blackberries. I caught her. It was a grand row.”
    Marika looked from the male to Skiljan and back. Seldom did she
think of her dam having been a pup.
    Skiljan growled, “You persist in that lie. After all these
years I