Eric had caught these covert, barely stated smiles from her before; especially in the last few weeks as the time for his Theft approached. He knew that if he were successful—and he had to be successful: don’t dare think of anything but success—she would look with favor on advances from him. Of course, Harriet was a redhead, and therefore, according to Mankind’s traditions, unlucky: she was probably having a hard time finding a mate. But his own mother had been a redhead.

Yes, and his mother had been very unlucky indeed. Even his father had been infected with her terrible bad luck. Still, Harriet the History-Teller was an important person in the tribe for one her age. Good-looking too. And, above all, she didn’t turn away from him. She smiled at him, openly now. He smiled back.

“Look at Eric!” he heard someone call out behind him. “He’s already searching for a mate. Hey, Eric! You’re not even wearing straps yet. First comes the stealing. Then comes the mating.”

Eric spun around, bits of fantasy still stuck to his lips.

The group of young men lounging against the wall of his band’s burrow were tossing laughter back and forth between them. They were all adults: they had all made their Theft. Socially, they were still his superiors. His only recourse was cold dignity.

“I know that,” he began. “There is no mating until—”

“Until never for some people,” one of the young men broke in. He rattled his spear in his hand, carelessly, proudly. “After you steal, you still have to convince a woman that you’re a man. And some men have to do an awful lot of convincing, an awful lot, Eric-O.”

The ball of laughter bounced back and forth again, heavier than before. Eric the Only felt his face turn bright red. How dare they remind him of his birth? On this day of all days? Here he was about to prepare himself to go forth and-Steal for Mankind…