For the moment, however, the sensational news could wait. John was weary and hungered beyond the point where anything else mattered. He rode toward his clann’s long-house, somewhat miffed at the timing of his moment of glory. Travelers from Beyond, indeed!

At the entrance to the longhouse, two of his closest friends duplicated the goggling of the warder of the gate.

John of the Hawks dismounted with considerable dignity and tossed his reins to one of the others.

“Don of the Clarks,” he said loftily, “be a good lad and take my animals to the pastures.” He looked at the other young man, who wore kilts similar to his own, those of the Clann Hawk. “And Dewey, would you mind, first, stripping the animals of the weapons and harness and taking them to the council hall, until I need them in my declamation before the muster, upon being raised up to the phylum?”

The one addressed as Dewey stuttered, “Where… where… where… ?”

But John raised a hand, exaggerating his weariness. “Later, lads, later. You’ll hear it all when each clannsman recites his victories to the assembly.”

He turned and entered the community house and headed for his family’s quarters.

They called after him, something urgent, but he was too tired now to chatter with them, no matter the glory. He wanted food, a bath and fresh clothing. The aftereffects of the excitement and hard riding were upon him.

In the small room that was his own, he began to strip but then paused, scowling. He could hear voices in the next room, the family living quarters, but they were not the voices he recognized, those of his mother, younger brother and two sisters. They were adult male voices, and now he realized they spoke with a strange accent.

He went to the door and pressed an ear against it, frowning still in puzzlement. The voices were clearer now. One was saying, “Well, you’re the nearest thing to an ethnologist we’ve got. What do you think?”