The soldiers had gathered again in the clearing, but now there was a waiting, a tension with the descent of twilight, and a gloom. A long fire had been built; Pakriaa's wave at her guests appeared to mean that they should sit where they pleased. Ann had not been able to convey the wish for an escort home, and Pakriaa's mind was plainly filled with some other, graver concern, having no more time for hospitality. Pakriaa entered her blue house. While she was gone, the soldiers seated beyond the fire scattered handfuls of earth in synchronized motions and the witches grouped behind them set up a monotone of chanting. Pakriaa returned wearing a white skirt, bare of all her paint and jewelry; she walked back and forth along the line of the fire, praying, until daylight was wholly gone. At her call, old men, neither painted nor grotesque, carried out burdened hides and laid them open beside the fire: white bones, broken weapons, skirts, loincloths, necklaces, arrows, little earthen pots and wooden bowls, many images of clay. The soldiers threw themselves face down, their foreheads on their arms, and wailed. Spearman's voice was tortured with perplexity: "Eat some, mourn for others. Murder them and love them--" "Yes, they're human." "Oh, shut up, Paul. What do you mean, human? These animals?" "Human mourning, isn't it? Listen to it." Ann spoke with held-in fury: "At least we're not cannibals. There may still be war back on Earth, but after all--" "Better to murder in groups of a thousand at long distance? Just listen to it, Ann...." It was music, becoming after a time the only thing existing under the red moon and the delicate unceasing dance of blue fireflies. It was the music they had heard on the first night in the jungle, a pouring forth of lamentation, wonder, supplication, whatever the spirit may feel in the contemplation of death and its troubling counterpart. A music that was meant to go on unchanging as the song of tree frogs for the thirteen hours of a night of Lucifer.... Pakriaa took no vocal part in the ritual, but sat alone, guarding the relics of the fallen. From time to time small man shapes carried new fuel to the fire. And there were stern sidelong glances from the princess: she had not forgotten her guests. Once or twice Paul caught himself dozing off, dragged into a partial hypnosis by the endless lamentation.... "Paul?" "Yes, Nan. I'm awake." He saw Spearman's head jerk upright. "Doc asked me yesterday--if I would bear him a child." Spearman's arm sought for her gently. "Why bring that up now? Can't think with all this damn caterwauling." "I--did get to thinking.... Everything we used to live by--it's so far away. Paul, you're close to Doc. You understand him, I guess."