bout making moccasins from the
tough noxi skin, using his own foot as the pattern, gut for thread, and
his knife as an awl.

The crude lopsided moccasins felt good on his feet; he had soh-leaf
pouches to hold coals and the jerky he'd let the sun dry; and the spit
did indeed make a workable spear. Looking around his camp before he
left, Tarlac couldn't help feeling a sense of accomplishment. His
shelter and equipment might not look like much, but they were his, in
the most personal way possible. It had been a long time since he'd
concerned himself with such basic essentials of survival, and somewhat
to his surprise, he found the past day as satisfying as anything he'd
done for the Empire. He almost hated to leave the shaky leanto.

He set off toward the stream that would serve as his guide and water
supply. He wouldn't get far today, probably only three or four
kilometers, but it was a start, and his need to finish the Ordeal
wouldn't let him delay.

His leanto that night was considerably sturdier, thanks to the bark
strips, and he made camp closer to water, which let him wash his knife
and himself and provided cooking mud. Tarlac couldn't help laughing at
that incongruous idea, even as he slathered a thick layer onto the
day's find of salvis roots. There were more than enough for a human,
though again, not for a Traiti. It might be logical after all to
insist that candidates spend at least their first night in the richly
productive test area near the clearing, and it was an equally good
reason, given Traiti food requirements, for most candidates to choose
to remain there.

The next five days settled into a routine of hiking and foraging,
living on produce and his stored jerky. Other than a brief but heavy
shower the third afternoon, the weather remained good; food was
abundant, if monotonous, and the only hostile wildlife he ran into was
a variety of insect something like an Alaskan mosquito with a decided
taste for human flesh. Except for an occasional feeling of being
watched, and his urgent reasons for being here at all, Tarlac was
enjoying himself. It was hard work, yes, and he looked forward to the
comfort of a sleeping mat and his n'ruhar's presence--but as he built
his shelter for the seventh and probably last night in the wilderness,
he couldn't help feeling some regret that the closest thing he'd had to
a vacation in ten years was coming to an end.

Chapter VI

One moment Tarlac was fal