Ryan shook his head. He could not understand it. But there were so many things that he could not understand. The Dance, for instance. Why should the mouthing of mere words to the accompaniment of rhythmic movements give him pleasure? How could hatred make him strong? He shook his head again. In a way, the Dance was the biggest mystery of all.... * * * * * Merium brought him his supper, looking up at him shyly with her large brown eyes. Illogically, Ryan was reminded of the last dog he had killed and he jerked the earthen pot out of her hands and walked down to the water's edge to eat alone. The sun had set. Streaks of gold and crimson quivered in the wind-creased water, slowly faded away. Darkness crept down from the gullied foothills to the beach, and with it came the first cold breath of night. Ryan shivered. He tried to concentrate on his food, but the memory of the dog would not go away. It had been a small dog, but a very vicious one. It had bared its teeth when at last he had cornered it in the little rocky cul-de-sac in the mountains, and as further evidence of its viciousness, it had wagged its ridiculous tail. Ryan could still remember the high-pitched sound of its growl--or was it a whine?--when he advanced on it with his club; but most of all he remembered the way its eyes had been when he brought the club down on its head. He tried to free himself from the memory, tried to enjoy his tasteless meal. But he went right on remembering. He remembered all the other dogs he had killed and he wondered why killing them should bother him so. Once, he knew, dogs had run with the hunters, not from them; but that was long before his time--when there had been something else besides dogs to hunt. Now it was different. Now it was dogs--or death.... He finished his meatless stew, swallowing the last mouthful grimly. He heard a soft step behind him, but he did not turn around. Presently Merium sat down beside him. The sea glinted palely in the light of the first stars. "It's beautiful tonight," Merium said. Ryan was silent. "Will there be a dance?" she asked. "Maybe." "I hope there is." "Why?" "I--I don't know. Because everyone's so different afterwards, I suppose--so happy, almost." Ryan looked at her. Starlight lay gently on her child-like face, hiding the thinness of her cheeks, softening the hunger-shadows beneath her eyes. Again he remembered the night he had almost wanted her and he wanted it to be the same again, only all the way this time. He wanted to want to take her in his arms and kiss her lips and hold her tightly to him, and when desire refused to rise in him, shame took its place, and because he couldn't understand the shame, he supplanted it with anger. "Men have no happiness!" he said savagely. "They did once--a long time ago." "You listen too much to the old women's tales."