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gone crazy. At Lunge, a doumana who had lavender that shade on her neck would surely get a talking to from Simanca. I didn’t care about Simanca. The colors could swirl on my skin for all to see.
    As the males danced, they scanned the doumanas ringing them, just as we scanned them. When one saw someone he liked, he’d pass his hoop over her head in invitation. If the doumana was attracted back, she’d take hold of his hoop and they’d leave together. Sometimes a bold doumana would wade in among the dancers and finding one she liked, sway her hips until the male either offered his hoop or turned away.
    Three hoops passed over my head. I didn’t take any of them. But there was something I liked in the fourth male who approached; his neck splotched violet with desire. He sang a wild song to me, like branches whipped by a storm, like worlds cracking apart.
    I took firm hold of his hoop, threw back my head and joined my wordless song with his, note and timbre of longing, of desire and fear, and of hope. Side by side, we went away from the dancing, to where other pairs were mating. I watched as my mate dug a shallow nest with his long claw. He settled himself in the hollow and reached up to me. I lay down beside him and felt my egg move, swelling, sliding down the channel. I felt his hand move slowly, carefully, tenderly down my side. His skin tasted spicy. He smelled of fresh loam and leaves. If I weren’t already crazy from Resonance, I’d surely have gone mad from the sweetness of his touch.
    Then, in the moment when I thought I would die of delight and didn’t care if I did, my mate slipped his soft hand up the channel, burst my egg sac and scooped out my egg. My body shook, quivering with pleasure. With dim awareness, I saw the male lift my fist-sized egg and cradle it in his arms. His digger claw swelled to twice its size and opened at the end. My mate screamed as his essence dripped over the soft shell and was absorbed through the egg for the new being that we were making together. I sat up—frightened that he was hurt. But his mouth crinkled and he fell on his knees beside me, panting hard. I knew that it wasn’t pain that had made him scream.
    He lay beside me again. I stroked his neck. We’d said nothing. To feel your mate and know his soul needed no words. We closed our eyes and slept.
    I left my egg there, in that valley, and felt finally whole.

Chapter Five
    Singing over the bones of the land, our hearts become glad .
    --The Song of Growing
    Planting always followed Resonance. Our unit was assigned to grow kiiku, thick-rinded gourds whose seeds were ground for flour. Several units grew kiiku since it was not only a staple for the commune, but also our major trading crop. The units competed fiercely to produce the most poundage each season and to secure the prizes that abundance won. Jit, Thedra, Stoss, and I made up our minds that this season we would win.
    Most big chores on the commune were done by group—either the whole commune together, or unitmates. But not crop growing. I would plant, water, weed, and care for my own area within my units’ field. No one could tell me why we did it this way. Simanca didn’t have a handy phrase from The Rules of a Good Life to explain it. It just was .
    Jit, Stoss, Thedra, and I went to the fields together, but spread out to begin planting our assigned areas. With each planted seed I thought of my egg cocooned in its warm nest, the new life within it growing, soon to hatch. I pretended each seed was my egg, that I was the life force itself, giving growth and vitality to the tiny, waiting thing in my hand.
    It was silly, this fantasy. Kiiku was only a plant and I was only Khe. Still, I enjoyed my pretense with only a touch of shame. “Imagination and fancy distract us from our work in the true world,” Simanca had said, but I could see no harm in it and it made the work seem easier.
    ***
    Thedra’s seeds sprouted first, their thin white stems backing slowly from