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Dwelinga. I came to kill a fargin saber shrew.”
    Inda, or maybe it was Anda, gave an approving grunt and grinned at her. His teeth, Darbon noted for the first time, were only a few shades lighter than his almond-colored skin, and one of the top front ones was missing.
    He made a note to pay more attention the next time either of them spoke. Maybe he could find a sure way to tell them apart.
    “I’ll stay behind and help the chatterboxes tarp us in,” Brody offered. “I need to ready my great-bow. It’s not likely you’ll slide up on a shrew on the first scouting trek anyway. Chelda, you can go in my stead.”
    Chelda was blushing, as if she were a little embarrassed by her outburst, but she didn’t speak. She took a seat on one of the unsplit logs Skog had set around the fire bowl and appeared happy to now be going out tomorrow instead of Brody.
    “As I was saying,” Endell went on, “it’s a good idea to scout out there. There are worse things than saber shrews or frost-wings roaming the tundra, and we don’t want to be making too cozy if a polera or an atterex is claiming these parts as home now. But otherwise, we need to be looking for a herd of leapers. Where there be leapers, there be shrews, and I’ve a plan to bait the shrew right where we want it to be.”
    “So, we’re really going leaper hunting tomorrow?” Chelda asked, with a scrunched up face.
    “That’s up to our esteemed employers what we do, lass,” said Endell. “They’re the ones footin’ the bill, but don’t be all down about it. We use my plan, and it works, you and everyone else here will have our hands full of angry shrew soon enough.”
    “No magic the shrew,” one of the Skmoes said flatly and pointed at Xavian.
    “What is he saying?” Xavian asked through a light yawn.
    Darbon chuckled. Whichever twin had just spoken had all of his front teeth. Now all Darbon had to do was figure out which one it was.
    “I think he wants to make sure you don’t blast away half of the shrew, or char its hide with your spells, when we face it.”
    The brother missing his front tooth slapped the other brother on the chest and nodded at Darbon. “Ya. Ya.”
    “They have a point,” Chelda said. “They’re getting paid in skin, and I’m getting paid in teeth. It won’t do to have its head scorched to ash, or chunks blasted out of its hide.”
    “Naught to worry about,” Xavian smiled, clearly pleased with the respect his spell casting had garnered him. “I intend to charm its mind, to befuddle and bewilder the great creature when we face it.” He held up his hands in an open-armed shrug. “Nothing more than that for the precious shrew.”
    “Good,” Chelda nodded.
    “Ya,” the twins grunted with satisfaction and went back to their stew.
    “My grandfather and some of the other Great Vale hunters killed a saber shrew once,” Chelda told them. “The fargin thing took out four of the twelve men and left my Great Uncle Kolsh missing a leg.”
    “That’s a wonderful story, Chel,” Darbon said. “Why didn’t you tell it at the table back in Orendyn? It might have had some bearing on my decisions.”
    “I might have, but I didn’t want to get you scared off of the hunt.” She grinned at him. “I was just getting to the good part.”
    *
    As Chelda went on to tell them how her ancestors wounded the shrew with arrows and spears then became its prey as it went on the attack, Vanx contemplated the strange sensation he was still feeling in his guts. Something Chelda had said struck a chord in him, and he wanted to know. He had to puzzle it out.
    The feeling hadn’t disappeared in the night, as he’d hoped. In fact, it had grown stronger. It was changing now. No longer was it a feeling of distant dread, like a nightmare half-forgotten in the waking moments; the feeling was now a need, or maybe a longing.
    He decided to accept the fact that it was real and not some residue of bad stew or a budding illness. This in itself was a