"A bear killed my father. That was after we came back here. Nell was sick. I did the hunting. We almost starved, for a while, but there's lots of game in the hills. It's a good life here. But I've been sorry for Lisa. She's a woman now. She needs a man. I'm glad you came. I would have hated to send her out looking for a normal one." "But--" Eric stopped, his head whirling. He didn't know what to say. Anything at all would sound wrong, cruel. "It's dangerous," Mag went on, "taking up with the normals. They think it's wrong. They think we're animals. One of us has to pick a man who's stupid--a farmer, maybe--and even then it's like being a pet. A beast." It took a moment for Eric to realize what she was saying, and when he did realize, the thought horrified him. "Lisa's father was stupid," Mag said. "He took me in when I came down from the hills. He didn't send for the others. Not then. He kept me and fed me and treated me kindly, and I thought I was safe. I thought our kind and theirs could live together." She laughed. Deep, bitter lines creased her mouth. "A week later the aircar came. They sneaked up to the garden where I was. He was with them. He was leading them." She laughed again. "Their kindness means nothing. Their love means nothing. To them, we're animals." The old woman, Nell, rocked back and forth, her face still in revery. Flies crawled over her bare arms, unheeded. "I got away," Mag said. "I saw them coming. They can't run fast, and I knew the hiding places. I never went back to the valleys. Nell would have starved without me. And there was Lisa to care for, later...." The flies settled on Eric's hands and he brushed them away, shivering. Mag smiled. The bitterness left her face. "I'm glad I don't have to send Lisa down to the valley." She got up before he could answer, before he could even think of anything to say or do. Crossing over to the pole where the dried meat hung, she pulled a piece of it loose and brought it back to where they sat. Some she gave to the old woman and some she kept for herself and the rest, most of it, she tossed to Eric. "You must be hungry, boy." It was filthy. Dirt clung to it--dust and pollen and grime--and the flies had flown off in clouds when she lifted it down. The old woman raised her piece and put the edge of it in her mouth and started to chew, slowly, eating her way up the strip. Mag tore hers with her teeth, rending it and swallowing it quickly, watching Eric all the time. "Eat." It was unreal. He couldn't be here. These women couldn't exist. He lifted the meat, feeling his stomach knot with disgust, wanting to fling it from him and run, blindly, down the hill to the aircar. But he didn't. He had searched too long to flee now. Shuddering, he closed his mind to the flies and the smell and the filth and bit into the meat and chewed it and swallowed it. And all the time, Mag watched him.