I
must have chuckled in my sleep.

* * * * *

"You're awake."

A brilliant statement, that--because I had sat up, squinted into the
bright sunlight streaming in through the doorway, yawned and stretched.
The Onists, I tell you, lack imagination.

The girl who spoke was a pretty enough little thing for an Onist. She
smiled, showing even white teeth. "Do you Pluralists eat?"

I nodded and rubbed my belly. I was to have had dinner after my turn as
sentry the night before, and now I felt like I could do justice to my
portion even at one of the orgies for which the Onists are so famous.

"Bring on your food and I'll show you," I told her, and she turned her
back to walk outside. It was early and the village seemed silent--surely
they hadn't intended this one slim maid to guard me! Yet she seemed
alone.

I leaped at her, circled her neck with my arm, prepared to make my exit.
They would laugh around our fire when I told them of this fine example
of the Onist lack of foresight....

Except that the girl yelped. Not loudly, but it was loud enough, and a
big muscular Onist came striding in with his throwing spear. He backed
me off into a corner, prodding my hungry belly with his weapon.

"Will you behave?"

* * * * *

I told him I would and he backed outside, but this time I could see his
shadow across the doorway.

The girl brought food and partook of it with me. I was surprised,
because we Pluralists will not eat with an Onist out of choice. Well, I
have said they are a strange people. Soon the girl stood up, patting her
mouth daintily with a square of cloth, and in that, of course, she was
trying to mime our graceful Pluralist women. "I suppose you think we are
going to kill you," she said. Just like that.

"To tell you the truth, I haven't given it much thought. There isn't
much I can do about it."

"Well, we're not. We could have done that back at your camp. We could
have killed all of you. No, we want to show you something."

I had a ridiculous thought that they made star-pictures, too--even those
who are not lame like my brother. I said, "Well, what will happen to me
after you show me?"

She smiled. "You still think we're going to kill you. What's your name?"

I told her, but I thought: she can't even keep a conversation going
without changing the subject.

"Jak," she repeated after me. "That's a common enough name. We have Jaks
among our