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turned one eye enough to look at Kerrick, then slowly away again. Otherwise he did not speak or move. Imehei lay at his side, eyes closed, immobile.
    "What is it?" Kerrick asked.
    Nadaske replied with an effort, and when he did his meaning was muffled with palpable sadness.
    "He has gone to the beach. The eggs are in his pouch."
    "I do not understand."
    "That is because although you are male you are not Yilanè male. You ustuzou order things differently.
    You have told me that your females carry the eggs, though I do not really understand how this can be possible. But you saw what happened to him this day. They did it to him. Now the eggs are in his pouch and his eyes are closed in the sleep that is not sleep. He will be like that until the eggs hatch and the young go into the water."
    "Is there anything we can do to stop this?"
    "Nothing. Once it begins it must go to the end. He will remain like this until the hatching."
    "Will he… die?"
    "Probably yes, probably no. Some die, some live. We can only wait. He must be taken back and cared for, fed and watched over. I must do that for him."
    "Do we carry him?"
    "No. The water. He must be in the water, the warm water of the birth beach. That is so the eggs will mature and hatch. If they die now he dies as well. This thing must run its course. Help me take him into the lake."
    Imehei was unconscious, heavy, hard to move. Working together they struggled with his torpid body to the shore and dragged it through the reeds. Once in the water he would be easier to pull along.
    Kerrick helped until the lake deepened enough so that Nadaske was able to swim. He grasped Imehei under the shoulders and kicked with his stout legs, making slow but steady progress. Kerrick waded ashore, seized up the hèsotsan and moved quickly off. It was late and he wanted to get back to their camp before dark.
    They were waiting for his return. Armun looked down the path behind him and saw it empty. She nodded approval.
    "Good. You have killed the murgu. It was time."
    "No, they are still alive. At least for the present." How could he explain to them what had happened—when he was not sure about it himself? "There were murgu hunters from the city out there, three of them. I killed one, Nadaske killed the other two. Imehei is—hurt, unconscious. Nadaske is bringing him back."
    "No!" Armun screamed. "I hate them, hate them here, don't want them here again."
    "There are more important things for us to talk of and we need not concern ourselves with them now.
    What is important is that we are no longer safe in this place. If hunters from the city could come this far they are sure to be followed by others. One day they will come."
    "They came because of those two, their own kind, you must kill them quickly…"
    Kerrick's temper rose to meet hers, but he controlled it because he knew why she was so disturbed. The baby was late, she was sick, worried. He had to understand. She needed reassuring.
    "It will be all right. We must wait until the baby is born, until you feel better. Then we will all leave here, go north, we cannot stay if the hunters are this close."
    "And what of these two murgu you care so much for?"
    "They stay here. We go without them. That is enough now. I am hungry and want food. And look at this—we have three more death-sticks. It will be all right."
    All right for them, he thought as he chewed the cold meat. But what about the males? They must stay here. With Imehei immobile in the lake it would be impossible for them to leave. Yet the rest of his sammad must go as soon as possible. That was all there was to it. There was no choice.
    It was late in the afternoon of the next day before Nadaske finally appeared with Imehei in tow. He was exhausted and moved one slow stroke at a time, floating and resting often. Kerrick took up Nadaske's hèsotsan and went to help him, stopping Arnwheet when he tried to follow. The boy did as he had been ordered, stood and gnawed his knuckles, worried and