The small one sighed. “I tried to obey you, T’carais. I came here because, in all former days, the egglings and their Broodmother kept to the other side of this field. It was accident that I came into the midst of them. And when the tallest eggling came to me and spoke, I thought it would be—rude—if I refused to answer as well as I might…”

The T’carais waited.

Val Con shrugged. “As for irritating the Broodmother—T’carais, I must admit that she has irritated me. Twice she denied this eggling and I the joy of acquaintanceship. If she had his best interest in her heart, she would not teach him fear of what is unknown, but encourage his curiosity and interest!”

An opinionated egg-man. And not a word to say that he had been threatened. Did he not know? Or count it too small a thing to mention?

“I hear your answer, and find it holds some merit. I see how this accidental meeting has occurred. The fault is mine and I will make amends. The Broodmother and the egglings will return to their place near the L’apeleka field. You will not go there.”

The small one bowed. “I hear you, T’carais.”

“See that you obey me,” Edger said, with asperity. “Broodmothers are not lightly angered. This one feels you are a threat and a danger. Annoy her further and she may strike you, thus greatly curtailing the span of your years.” He studied the unconcerned green eyes. “Do you understand me, Val Con yos’Phelium Scout?”

“Yes, Edger. I understand you.” He tipped his head. “The T’carais has further orders?”

An exhalation like a small tornado. “A question: You named your Clan Korval. I am not familiar with this line of the clans of Men. I think you are not Yxtrang—”

Val Con tipped his head back, uttering that sound men call laughter. Glancing up, he raised a hand to push dark fur from bright eyes.

“Not Yxtrang,” he murmured. “Nor Terran, though—” He paused. Trade did not hold an adequate word, so he settled at last for: “she-who-raised-me is. I am Liaden.”