“Evil?” asked Riverwind, sitting down in front of the old man.

“'Darkness,' I said, yes?” The last acorn Catchflea smiled at. “And out of the darkness shall come the seed of the new, which is like the old.”

“What does that mean?”

“The new is the old? Natural, yes. That is all I can tell you.” Catchflea scooped up the acorns and slipped them back in the gourd. Round and round went his wrinkled hand, shaking the gourd.

Riverwind had heard whispers that the old man conversed with spirits who told him the future, and he had a formidable record predicting whether Que-Shu mothers would have boy babies or girls. Riverwind couldn't dismiss Catchflea's remarks as idle talk.

He said, “Which way should I go?”

“Ha!” This time the nuts fell in a row. “East,” said Catchflea. Riverwind scratched his head. The nuts weren't obviously pointing east.

“How do you know what they say?” he asked.

“How do you know how to breathe? How do you know when it's time to rise or time to sleep?”

Riverwind nodded. “I just know. I don't need to ponder it. The knowledge comes to me, and I know.”

“That is it exactly, yes,” said Catchflea.

Riverwind stood slowly, leaving the old man to gather his acorns again. East. Into the Forsaken Mountains. At least at this time of year the high passes would be free of snow-

The nuts clattered in the gourd. Catchflea dumped them out, crying for the third time, “Ha!”

Riverwind came out of his reverie. “What do you see, old man?”

Catchflea squinted up at the tall huntsman. “I am to go with you.” The distracted lilt was gone from his voice.

Riverwind stiffened. “Perhaps you are reading them wrong,” he suggested.