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the bravest thing I ever saw," she said. "Going back for the tent like that."
        "It had to be done. I don't remember much about it, except your screaming at me 'Come on! Come on!'" He realized that sounded ungracious. "You were right, of course. You kept me going. I didn't know what I was doing."
        "I only yelled once."
        So it had been in his head, along with the other phantasms. "But you guided me away from the shrews."
        "I was afraid of them. You picked up Sol and ran after me. On and on. I don't know how you did it. I thought you were done when you tripped, but you kept getting up again."
        "The books call it hysterical strength."
        "Yes, you are very strong," she agreed, not understanding him. "Maybe not so quick with your hands as he is, but much stronger."
        "Still, you carried the gear," he reminded her. "And you set all this up." He looked about the tent, knowing that she must have carved pegs to replace the ones lost when he uprooted the works amid the shrew invasion, and that she must have hammered them into the ground with a stone. The tent was not mounted evenly, and she had forgotten to dig a drainage trench around it, but the props were firm and the flaps tight. It was proof against the moths, with luck and vigilance, which was what counted, and could probably withstand rough use. The placement of the fire was a stroke of genius. "An excellent job, too. You have a lot more ability than I gave you credit for."
        "Thank you," she said, looking down. "It had to be done."
        There was silence again. The fire was sinking, and all he could see were the highlights of her face and the rounded upper contours of her breasts, all lovely. It was time to lie down together, but still they held back.
        "Sometimes we camped out, when I was with my family," she said. "That's how I knew to pitch the tent on a rise, in case it rained." So she had been aware of the necessity for drainage. "We used to sing songs around the fire, my brothers and I, trying to see how late we could stay awake."
        "So did we," he said reminiscently. "But I can only remember one song now."
        "Sing it for me."
        "I can't," he protested, embarrassed. "My notes are all off-key."
        "So are mine. What's the song?"
        "'Greensleeves.'"
        "I don't know it. Sing it."
        "I can't sing lying on my side."
        "Sit up, then. There's room."
        He floundered into an upright posture, facing her across the length of the tent, Sol's still form stretched out diagonally between them. He was glad, now, that it was dark.
        "It isn't suitable," he said.
        "A folk song?" Her tone made the notion ridiculous.
        He took a breath and tried, having run out of objections:
     
    Alas, my love, you do me wrong
    To cast me out discourteously
    When I have loved you so long
    Delighting in your company.
     
        "Why that's beautiful!" she exclaimed. "A love ballad."
        "I don't remember the other verses. Just the refrain."
        "Go ahead."
     
    Greensleeves was my delight
    Greensleeves was all my joy
    Greensleeves was my heart of gold
    And who but my lady Greensleeves?
     
        "Does a man really love a woman like that?" she inquired meditatively. "I mean, just thinking about her and being delighted in her company?"
        "Sometimes. It depends on the man. And the woman, I suppose."
        "It must be nice," she said sadly. "Nobody ever loaned me his bracelet, just for company. That kind, I mean. Except-"
        He saw her eyes move to Sol, or thought he did, and spoke to cut off the awkward thought. "What do you look for ma man?"
        "Leadership, mostly. My father was second-ranked in the tribe, but never the master, and it wasn't much of a tribe. He finally got wounded too bad and retired to the crazies, and I was so ashamed I struck out on my own. I want a name everyone will admire. More than anything else, I