The hunter rested his chin on his hand and looked down at the aimless patterns he was tracing in the dust with the end of the metal cylinder. Time had been, he reflected, that he would have thought it funny to hear of Vaneen's being turned upside down and having some of the haughtiness knocked out of her. Once, even, he might have felt sorry for her afterward, or been enraged at the thought of Moyt's being there to ogle--or, worse, to intercede. At the moment, he merely felt weary and discouraged. "As you like," he said, "but it's dark out there, and a long way back." He drew a circle in the dust and sliced it into quarters. After a moment, Vaneen turned back to the fire from staring across the dark plain. The long grass looked light gray in the dim light of Kloto, largest of The World's three moons. Lax would not rise till early morning, and tiny Atropo was so seldom seen that walking in its "light" was proverbial. "Here," said Yorgh, "you can have my cloak for a cushion." Vaneen stared expressionlessly at the tatters of his fine red tunic, and he could not tell what she thought. "I have my own," she said, and unslung it from the back of her belt. She threw the cloak about her shoulders and eased herself to the ground with just a hint of extra care. Maybe the old fish did beat her, thought Yorgh. I'll pull his straggly beard for him one of these days! He cut off a portion of juicy loppa meat for her, and placed Kwint's water-skin and salt between them. Then he went back to peeling the remaining bark from his crude spear. He caught Vaneen watching him with her hand close to the small knife in her belt. Yorgh snorted. "Go to sleep!" he said. I can recall when she'd have needed a spear, Yorgh thought, but I just don't have any spirit tonight. He rolled himself in his cloak and stretched out. Something dug into his ribs, and he found the metal cylinder under him. * * * * * Yorgh held it up before his eyes a moment, and muttered a few obscenities. He could remember nothing but bad luck since the moment he had found it. A twig snapping in the flames caught his attention. He hefted the metal instrument in his palm, then tossed it into the fire. He slept better than he expected. Once or twice, instinct awakened him in time to replenish the fire. The last time he awoke, he found himself already halfway to his feet in the mist of dawn as Vaneen's scream was choked off by a hairy hand slapped across her mouth. Yorgh groped for his spear. All he could see, at first, were legs of wollies surrounding the fire. The spear was not where he had left it; it was in the hands of a slim, black-bearded man in a fur cap who sat on the nearest wolly. He watched Vaneen's writhings with amused admiration, but kept one eye on Yorgh.