with goodness, like the Middle Earth at the time of the Gathering.

Cadillac and Clearwater journeyed eastwards through the shoulder-high

orange grass until the mountain which rose behind the M'Call settlement

was no wider than the fingers of their outstretched hand. As the sun

reached the head of the sky, they drank from a shallow, swift-running

river and rested for a while in the cool shade of a large rock. The

water rippled over worn pebble beds with a slapping noise like women

throwing flat-bread at a clanbake.

Cadillac climbed up onto the rock and cautiously scanned the ground

beyond the river. The grass was shorter on the far side and in the

distance, he saw the tell-tale flash of white hindquarters that

indicated a herd of fast-foot; sharp-eyed reddish-brown deer that could

outrun a mountain lion.

They would require careful stalking but if he could bring down one of

the horned males it would be a highly prized catch that would give him

standing with the Bears - and might even earn him a fire song.

Cadillac slithered quickly down the rock to where Clearwater lay curled

in its shadow. He touched her shoulder. 'Fast-foot." He pointed

across the river then picked up his crossbow and cranked the lever that

drew the bowstring onto the half-trigger.

Clearwater sat up and smoothed her boned and ribboned rat-tail plaits

into place around her ears. 'How far?"

'Two bolts,' grunted Cadillac. Even with the aid of the lever, it

required considerable strength to pull the bowstring back to the

half-way position.

A bolt was one of the methods used by Mutes to judge distances and was,

as the name suggests, the distance a bolt travelled when fired from a

fully-cocked crossbow. Since the maximum range could vary considerably

it was a somewhat imprecise measurement but, on average, one bolt

equalled a little under four fifths of a mile.

Clearwater climbed swiftly up onto the overhanging rock and searched

the plain beyond the river. 'I see them." She clambered halfway down

then jumped, landing gracefully at Cadillac's feet. 'Let us wait

here.

They will come to the river at sundown."

'Are we old ones?" said Cadillac. 'Must we sit and wait until someone

puts meat in our lap? She-ehh!" He breathed out sharply, making a

short hissing sound - a sign, among Mutes, of annoyance. He turned

away, and moved to the water's edge.

Clearwater caught hold of his wrist. 'We should not cross the river.

The water marks the edge of our turf. If you would bring food, let us

take fish."

Cadillac jerked his arm free. 'Fish!? Where is the standing in

that!

?"

'You have standing,' said Clearwater. 'You are the one who will speak

for us after Mr Snow has gone to the High Ground. You have no need to

hunt, or run with the Bears.

That is the task of those born without pictures on their tongues."

'Need ... She-eeh! What do you know of my needs?" said Cadillac. He

laid a fist on his heart. 'I would be as they are.

Oh, I know I cannot be like my brothers in the strength and shape of my

body. Like you, I was made from a different clay. But my heart is as

strong and as brave as theirs. I paint pictures with my tongue, yes

but the colours are those of the brave. The flashing silver of sharp

iron, the blood red of victory. The history of the M'Call clan and the

Plainfolk is the history of its warriors. The tales I tell are of

battles won by Bears with Names of Power ' 'You, too, have a Name of

Power ' 'It is empty. I have no standing. My tongue is full of brave

deeds but my knife-arm has never drawn blood. How many fire songs will

bear my name when I go to the High Ground?"

Clearwater's