His mother swiped at her eye, forced a smile, and began to pass the food around. There was porridge and bread toasted over the fire, with big slabs of cheese from the crusted round Safar's mother always kept sitting near the embers. They washed their breakfast down with milk still warm from the goats.

"You were late coming home last night, Khadji, his mother said as she gave his father another slice of buttered toast. There must've been much business for the council to discuss. Not bad news, I hope."

Khadji frowned. It wasn't exactly bad news, Myrna, he said. But it certainly was troublesome."

Myrna was alarmed. Nothing to do with the caravan, I hope? she said.

Caravan season was just beginning and the village had received word the first group of traders was making its way to Kyrania. It had been a long winter and the money and goods the caravan would bring were sorely needed.

"No, nothing to do with the caravan, Safar's father said. It's not expected for a few weeks, yet."

Myrna snorted, impatient. If you don't want a second bowl of porridge served on your head, Khadji Timura, she said, you'll tell us right now what this is all about!"

Usually, Khadji would have laughed, but instead Safar saw his frown deepen.

"We agreed to accept a boy into the village, Khadji said. He was presented to us by an elder of the Babor clan, who begged us to give him sanctuary."

The Babors were the leading family of a large and fierce clan of people who lived on the distant plains.

Myrna dropped a serving spoon, shocked. I don't like that! she said. Why, they're practically barbarians. I'm not sure I like having one of their young ruffians among us."