It had been less than seven years. In the midst of a scourge of spiders, hunger and scarcity of game had forced the tribe far to the west, beyond any boundaries or even point of recognition. After a long and fruitless day's search, the men at last spotted three large deer, feeding in a clearing on a long hillside surrounded by trees. They had broken into groups, to circle and surprise them. His father and his brother, still a boy, had gone alone to the far left-hand side where the clearing ran through a sunken gap, to cut off that way of escape. But as they drew nearer the prey, from their respective paths the others had heard the sounds of sudden, deep growling and forgotten the deer, who scattered as they left cover and came running to the place where his father was being mauled and dragged by a bear, also far from its home, with his brother stabbing futilely with his tiny spear and crying and screaming as his father made no sound. And the men had killed it in a fierce battle, but his father lay bloodied and unmoving. Barabbas had stood for a long time---alone, shaken but not from fear---then had taken the two of them aside. His heavy hands said simply, 'I am your father now.' He had turned to walk away, then turned again and said. 'I am sorry.' A sob made him breathe heavily and drop his head: a single tear. And that was the only emotion he had allowed himself to feel. Now, as Kalus watched him, it was as if a veil had been lifted and he saw him for the first time, not as the hard and untouchable leader, but as a man---real, and therefore vulnerable. And he remembered other things as well. All the times Barabbas had gone hungry so that others could eat, the way he always stood foremost in times of danger, risking his own life to defend them. He felt his pain. And he found himself fighting back tears as he rose. 'Why are you crying?' he said feebly. Then remembering, he signaled with his hands. 'Why?' And Barabbas misunderstood, as the wolves and tribesmen stood in silent truce around them, the guard deserted, and he thought Kalus asked. 'Why did you not let him kill me?' This was too much for him. He clenched his hands around nothing and bowed his head, and felt as if he stood at the center of a vast desert where nothing and no one could touch him and all he could do was fight and not win. 'How could I?' he signaled clumsily, ashamed. His large eyes and matted hair faced downward, then looked up again, almost pleading. 'I killed him because you are my flesh. You are my son; I will never have a son. Because I cannot breathe or sleep when I think you are alone and in danger, and I know it is my fault.