Neju shook his head slowly and the Chieftain seemed to retreat as if from an invisible blow; then he stood erect, gestured that they should enter, and followed them in. * * * * * Slowly, outside, movement began again. There was a floating whisper of soft words and the children moved gravely about. Even the _corlieus_ seemed to sense the change and did not try to attract attention. Overhead, a great bird flapped by. Inside the lodge the four arranged themselves differentially at their Chieftain's feet. The Chieftain was old. His arms were loose shells of skin over bone and his face was pinched with wrinkles; even the eyes were misty and bluish with age. And his voice, when he broke the silence, was thin and querulous. "You have returned," he said. The four remained quiet, sitting with their legs coiled under them as pillows. After a while, Neju answered, "Yes, we have returned." The ritual question and answer gave the old Chieftain time to get his emotions under control; his eyes were clouded with grief, and his head bobbed loosely on his skinny neck. And then: he was unsure as to why there were tears in his eyes. "He will not join us," Neju said quietly. The old one sighed and rubbed a wrinkled hand over his face. Outside, the mourners began their chant, slow, terrifying. A distant drum picked up the beat and throbbed out the heart-rhythm. "We took one of the weapons," Neju said. "But we were prevented from entering their village." The old one nodded. He closed his eyes and turned his face toward the ceiling of the lodge. He was tired; it was odd, how suddenly tired. Yesterday there had been ... no, that was not yesterday. His son coming up from the stream with his first catch. The air had been bright (it was no longer bright any more) and he had laughed, saying.... But now there was something about a demon somewhere, wasn't there? A fearsome thing. It was hard to believe in demons; yes, and in Gods, too. That summer when _his_ father pointed to the moon being eaten by shadow, he had believed in Gods, then. He must tell his grandson about that. It was very strange. And there was an old ritual one should make when the drought came.... "Here, their weapon...." The old one opened his eyes once more. His young friend, Neju, was handing him a strange thing. He marveled at it, thinking that perhaps the Gods had left it when they went away. "It is dangerous." The old one was trying to think. There was something about the new Gods who had come down from the sky; but they brought demons with them, so perhaps they were not Gods at all and it was quite confusing, being old. He must remember to ask his grandson to tell him all about it. They placed the weapon before him and rose, making their bows, and left him in peace. He stared at the weapon for many minutes. His grandson, Zoon--no, Zoon had been his son--his grandson's name was--was--ah--Zoee, yes. A little child.