“I am angry that you are here, but because I see you are ignorant, I will raise no complaint to the T’car. Now begone.” He folded his arms over his armored chest and glared at the little creature.

Who sighed, and glanced down at the reed in his hand. He seemed markedly uncowed by Edger’s avowed anger, and did not smell of fear. When he raised his face he was smiling, as men call it, though very slightly.

“I am sorry,” he said slowly, “about the music. It is a new instrument for me and I am afraid I did mis-craft it. I did not know the playing was of such poor quality that it would ruin a crop of blades.” He paused, vivid eyes intent. The T’carais kept his countenance unyielding, and said nothing.

“Where I am from,” continued Val Con yos’Phelium Scout, “knives are made of iron and steel and light.

I have made a few of the first two myself, though I am a novice. It would interest me greatly to learn how your knives are formed.”

“You might have had the privilege,” the T’carais said with deliberate cruelty, “but you chose to cast it away from you and enter without permission.”

“And how was I to ask permission,” wondered the impudent one, “when there is no person I have found in the valley who will speak to me?”

“Foolish eggling! Do you expect persons of consequence to speak to one to whom they have not been introduced?”

The small one took time to consider this, eyes on a rock at his feet. He looked up.

“You are.”

Had he been capable of it, the T’carais would have gaped. As it was, he merely moved his head from side to side, slowly, before speaking with great care. “This is a different matter. Your noise endangered the blades. I am T’carais. Of course I must speak, that I might command you to cease.”