"It's not all that interesting," said Morwin.

"I suppose not. --Well, good morning to you." He did not offer to shake hands.

"Good morning," said Morwin, and watched him depart.

Yes, being spoiled would have been pleasant. Another year or two and the boy would have learned ... everything that he would ever know.

Alyshia Curt, his secretary-receptionist, cleared her throat within her alcove around the corner behind the door. Holding to the frame with both hands, he leaned to his right and peered down at her.

"Hi," he said. "Have Jansen pack it and deliver it; and send the bill."

"Yes, sir," and she gestured with her eyes. He followed them.

"Surprise," said the man seated by the window, without any inflection in his voice.

"Michael! What are you doing here?"

"I wanted a cup of real coffee."

"Come on back. I've got some simmering."

The man rose and moved slowly, his bulk, his pale uniform, his albino hair reminding Morwin for the dozenth time of ice ages and the progress of glaciers.

They passed back into the studio and Morwin sought two clean cups. Locating them, he turned to discover that Michael had crossed, silently, the entire length of the studio, to regard the latest creation.

"Like it?" he asked.

"Yes. It's one of your best. --For that Arnithe kid?"

"Yeah."

"What did he think of it?"

"He said he liked it."

"Mm." Michael turned away and moved to the small table where Morwin sometimes took his meals.

Morwin poured the coffee and they sipped it.

"Tile _lamaq_ season opens this week."

"Oh," said Morwin. "I hadn't realized it was getting around to that time of year. You going out?"

"I was thinking of the weekend after this. We could skim up to the Blue Forest, camp out a couple nights, maybe bag ourselves a few."

"That sounds like a good idea. I'm with you. Anybody else coming along?"