Father snorts at the thought of it. "You are what you are," he says. "When will you accept that?"

"You didn't grow up with them. You didn't go to their schools."

"We only do what we must." Father sighs. "We're no different from the lions that roam the Serengeti. We just happen to favor the taste of man."

"That doesn't mean I have to eat their young," I say.

"Don't forget. We were rulers of great kingdoms once, slayers of thousands," Father says, "Ours is a history older than the age of magic-"

I've heard this lecture all my life. I interrupt, and parrot back the words he's spoken to me so many times before, "Had we slain a thousand times more of them, we still couldn't have stemmed the explosive growth of humanity. And no matter how strong our power, no matter how long we lived, we were never numerous enough."

"Quiet!" Father says. "Don't bother me anymore until you have something to bring me."

I grin at his dismissal, guide the boat into the narrow channel that slices into our island and then empties into a . round lagoon-the two together looking uncannily like a keyhole from the air.

As soon as I tie off the Grady White's dock lines, I strip off my clothes, leaving them piled on the dock. I stand for a few moments and let the night wind caress me, play with my hair. I hold up my hand before me and marvel at its softness, the frailty of the human form.

How such weak beings could ever end up ruling the earth still amazes me. Any one of my ancestors could kill hundreds of them in a single skirmish. But, I know, as Father taught me, once the first of us was brought down in battle, mankind lost its fear of us. So what that it might take a thousand men to kill one of ours? There were always thousands more to try.