“What is it you must insist, Broodmother?”

“That hideous thing must be slain—or banished—or—or—It is dangerous, T’carais—rabid! I cannot, in my duty as Broodmother—”

Edger lifted a hand and she subsided, though not willingly.

“There is new behavior? something other than we spoke of past noontime?”

“T’carais, I used your counsel and moved the egglings to the other side of the L’apeleka field for this suntime. All was well, I thought, until I looked about—it was back! and alone with the T’carais’amp! Speaking with him!” She stopped a moment, clearly agitated. “I ran to them, T’carais, and I confess that my hand was raised to strike it…”

Strike him? The T’carais recalled the man’s absurd frailness. One blow from an outraged Broodmother would shatter him beyond hope of repair. He tasted air.

“Yet you did not.”

“I did not, “she agreed. “For it looked up at my approach, bowed down and stayed thus, very meekly, while I berated it.” She gathered her courage together. “It is evil, T’carais. A danger to the egglings and to the clan. It must be destroyed.”

“No,” said the T’carais firmly; and his brother Handler looked at him consideringly. “This is a sentient being, Broodmother. Ignorant, yes. Young, also. But not malicious. The Knife Clan does not kill wantonly. I go now to speak with him, explaining your preference that he stay apart from the egglings. Though,” he added, fixing her with an eye, “it is true that one hungers for children, when one is far from clan and kin.” He gestured brusquely. She bowed and went.

Edger turned to his brother. “Will you come? If you are to judge in my place while I am absent, it is well you know all whom your words enclose.”

Handler inclined his head. “I was about to beg the honor, Brother."