They left the village and climbed the hill. He had meant to sit with Tsu and Smarin, to share their grief a while this morning, if they would let him. Why he walked now, he could not say, save that his brain was in a whirl. And Tsu accompanied him gaily, chattering nonsense about the death of her mother. He stopped, looked at the village below. While they were here, he would ask Tsu for information about who lived where. He had already sketched the village from his tent. He would write in the information as an addition to his notes. A thought struck him. Why label the props on the stage set? Labels meant nothing ... unless you could see the set from the wings. It would help, if he could do that. "Let's sit here, Tsu," he said. She sat, obediently, among the tall grasses, folding slim, long legs under her like a child. He sat at her side, noting with relief that a slight hump in the slope hid the village from sight. He took her hand in his. "I have thought of something," he said carefully. "Tell me about the children. Let's take Yanek ... is that his name? He lives in the house next to you. How old is he?" She regarded him from the corners of her long eyes. "Old? Yanek is as old as a child. He is as old as he is." "How old is Yanek in years?" She hesitated, biting her lip in puzzlement. "There is always Yanek, _sintaha_ Rowley. Why should there be anything about him of years?" She didn't know what he was talking about. Rowley felt excitement creep along the channels of his veins. "Can you remember when Yanek was born?" The look in her eyes made his heart pound harder. She was alarmed! He pressed on, relentlessly. "Yesterday, Torl died. Today, she lives. You do not understand a simple thing like age. You do not remember when Yanek was born, but he is not over seven or eight. Tsu ... tell me ... are you and your people immortal?" There was an anguish in his tone that made her drop her eyes. "No," she said, without moving her lips. That was the truth. His inner sense told him it was. And the truth was disappointing. What had he expected? The key to immortality? The Fountain of Youth? Men had sought it in ages past and never found it. His thoughts darted. "If you cannot remember Yanek being born, perhaps he was not born. Yet, you have families. There must be love...." "Love, yes! We love each other, we love our world, our trees...." "And if a young man loved you, Tsu, how would he say it?" His heart was pounding fiercely now. A fierce zeal possessed him that was not born of her nearness, the intimacy of their seclusion. His conditioning against emotional storms had been too thorough for him to break it now. It was something else that possessed him--the excitement of the hunter viewing the first, sparse tracks of the game he seeks. He had asked. It all depended now on her answer, for the mystery was coming clear to him. Her long eyes were heavy-lidded, candid, without guile. "How would he among your people, _sintaha_ Rowley?"