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opening a way for the Sankoy stink to spread.” Pulling the mantle of the Intii back around his shoulders, speaking with grave formality, he said, “What do you require, meie of the Biserica?”
    Once again Serroi straightened her back, squared her shoulders, answering with equal formality, “This I require, Intii of the fishers. A macai from among the abandoned.” She nodded at the dark blotches wandering about the rolling meadow, their shapes lost to the descending night. “A hot meal, a bath, a bed and in the morning supplies for my journey.”

THE CHILD: 2
    Letting her short legs swing, Serroi watched the hairy haunches of the vinat ripple as the beast pulled them steadily over the pathless tundra. They were traveling west, cutting across the migration route of the vinat herds and the windrunner clans that followed them. Narrowing her eyes, she sneaked a glance at the tall silent figure sitting beside her, the reins resting loose in lax fingers. He’d been kind enough, but after her first glow faded, she was afraid to trust that kindness without trying it some more. Her five years had been enough to teach her how little she could depend on outside herself. Though she was beginning to understand that the world had patterns she could learn if she watched them long enough, each spring was still a revelation to her; she wasn’t sure, even now, that the sun would keep coming back, but could remember enough times when it had to be reasonably certain spring would come again. In the same way, she’d come to expect pain and spite from humankind and see momentary kindness as a trap for her stumbling feet.
    Still, she had fallen into hope, seduced by the beauty of the man and the music of his voice. It seemed to her as she continued to sneak looks at him that no one so beautiful could be cruel or indifferent, that the man’s outward appearance must reflect his inner nature. She smoothed her hands over the supple leather of the cushions. Smiling timidly; she asked, “How may I call you?”
    When he didn’t answer, she shrank back into her own silence, afraid she’d offended him. Some moments later he looked around, black eyes coming back from vast distance, warming with visible effort. “Your pardon, child?” The soft deep voice wooed her back from her fear, cradling her in its music. She wanted to snuggle against him, be comforted by him, but she didn’t quite dare. There was a barrier unseen and undefined between them; she sensed her affection would not be welcome, at least not now. Later, when she knew more of him, perhaps she could move closer. She needed to be touched, to be given the casual physical affection she’d received from her animals.
    â€œMy mind was elsewhere, child.” He shifted the reins into one hand and brushed the wild fleece off her forehead. It should have been a light caress but was not, was too stiff and forced, as if he calculated even the speed and weight of touch required by such a gesture. Deeply disappointed, she forced a quivering smile to hide her confusion. “What did you ask?” he said, looking down at his fingers as if he too didn’t know quite what to make of the failed gesture.
    â€œHow may I call you?”
    â€œI have no name.” He spoke slowly, thoughtfully; she saw him give his shoulders a small shake like the twitch she sometimes gave to her boots when her feet were swollen and the boots didn’t want to slide on as they should. Like the boots, too, he grew easier with wear. When he spoke again, he had relaxed until she could feel the return of the warmth that had made her happy enough to come with him. “I am a Word-master of the Nearga-Nor. You may call me Ser Noris.”
    Serroi shook her hair back over her eyes. “Ser Noris, why did you take me from Grandfather?”
    â€œWere you so happy living with him?”
    â€œThey’re my family.” She didn’t want to