Ilto’s frenetic pace was wearing him down. Despite the enormous and frequent meals Ani forced him to eat, and the nutrients that she poured into his body through her allu, the flesh was melting off Ilto’s bones.

The strange taint in his blood grew stronger as well, but Ilto was too obsessed by the new creature to stop and heal himself. He refused to allow Ani to try to clear it out of his blood. Concerned, she turned to Ninto, the one elder who knew Ilto better than she did.

“He’s pushing himself too hard,” Ani told Ninto, “but he won’t rest.”

“He’s as stubborn as an old kular,” the tall, slender elder agreed.

Blue and green amusement flowed over Ani. She had no trouble seeing Ilto as a spiny, irascible anteater.

“There’s no arguing with him when he’s like this,” cautioned Ninto. “He was like this when I was his bami. I don’t think I remember him ever changing his mind, not in all the years I’ve known him. Once he makes up his mind to do something there’s no arguing him out of it.”

Ani suppressed a brown flush of embarrassment at Ninto’s glancing mention of her relationship with Ilto. Most elders raised only one bami, and once it was ready, its sitik either died or left the village. But an elder had died without a bami to succeed him. The village chief chose Ilto’s bami, Ni-ne, to fill the’dead elder’s place. Ni-ne became the elder Ninto. Ten years later, Ilto selected Ani as his second bami. That made Ninto her tareena.

Ani had been with Ilto for many years. Trees they had planted during their first year together now spread their leaves in the sunshine at the top of the jungle’s canopy. But Ninto had been there before her. She knew Ilto as both sitik and fellow elder. Ani and Ninto were the only tareena in the village. It was an unusual relationship, and it set Ani apart from the other bami.

Ninto brushed Ani’s shoulder affectionately, and set aside the gathering bag she was weaving. “I’ll see what I can do,” she reassured her.