He scowled at her. Looked her up and down. She was wearing a tarnished ring on her right hand, with a stone that sparkled. He liked it. He decided to kill her. He pressed the knifepoint harder, and twisted. She said, "Little boy--" and started to cry. Memories assailed Steven: _Jump for God's sake, little boy...._ Distrust. Kill her. _My little boy ... my son...._ His knifepoint wavered. He scowled. _Don't run away, little boy--we won't hurt you...._ Kill. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. _My son, my baby ... I'm crying because I have to go away for a long time...._ Steven stepped back. She was weaponless, and a _woman_--whatever that was. Leaves rustled. Steven and the girl froze motionless. It was only a squirrel in the bushes. He bent silently, looked around under the leafy green bushes that surrounded them, almost at ground-level. If there had been men nearby, he could have seen their legs. He saw nothing. He kept one eye on the girl as he bent. She wasn't crying, now that he'd taken the knife away. She was watching him and rubbing her belly where he'd pressed it. When he straightened, she took a step away from the tree, moving as silently as he ever had. Suddenly she stooped to pick up her knife, made a slashing motion at the ground with it, looked up at him. He was in mid-air. On her. She flattened beneath him with a squeal. She was stronger than he was, and experienced. She brought her knife back over her shoulder, and if he hadn't ducked his head it would have laid his face open. When she brought it down for another try, he clubbed the back of her hand with the hilt of his knife, and she gasped and dropped it. Astride her, he raised his knife to kill her. She was pointing with her left hand, frantically, at something that lay on the ground beside them, and saying, "No, no, little boy, no, no--" Then she just whimpered, knowing that his knife was poised, and kept stabbing her finger at the ground. Because she was helpless, he paused, looked, and saw a squirrel lying there, head bleeding. He understood. She hadn't been trying to kill him. She had seen the squirrel, and gotten it. He decided to kill her anyway. For the squirrel. "_No, little boy--_" He hesitated. "_Friends_, little boy...." After a moment he rolled off her. She sat up, cheeks tear-streaked. She pointed at the squirrel, then at Steven, and shook her head violently. Knife threatening her, he reached out to pick up the squirrel. _Mine_, the knife said. At that point the squirrel, which had been only momentarily stunned by her blow, shook itself and scrambled for the bushes. His hand missed it by inches. He lunged for it, flat on his belly, and caught its tail with one hand. As another squirrel's tail had done long ago, this one broke off. He lay there for a moment, snarling, the tail in his hand; and when he turned over, the girl had her knife in her hand and her teeth were bared at him.