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At last, the onslaught of gifts and welcoming was over. The formal mood shattered like glass dropped on a hard floor. A ululating cry of anticipation went up from somewhere in the crowd, and even the sober Culil smiled.

"Now we eat!" he said.

And eat they did. The bounty of the food nearly equaled that of the gifts. Roasted beasts, fish, and fowl were brought for them to partake of. A variety

of handmade cups, filled with beverages of varying degrees of potency, were pressed into their hands. Savory soups; crunchy, juicy fruits and vegetables; porridges of grains mixed with fruit pulp and eaten with the fingers; flower-scented sweets that dissolved into heady flavor the instant they were placed on the tongue; all manner of culinary delights were paraded in front of them.

Tom was ravenous and ate as if to make up for the lost-days? weeks?-of illness. He felt his stomach's growling subside as it was first placated, then filled. The skin on his belly was stretched taut by the time he ruefully waved away something made of fruit paste, sweet tubers, and meat that smelled heavenly.

"I can't eat another bite," he said, and it was the honest truth.

Chakotay, too, looked utterly sated. His eyes even seemed a little glazed. But perhaps, thought Tom, that was just the alcohol in his own system talking.

The villagers seemed pleased by the quantity of food that the Strangers had eaten, although to Paris it looked as though they had merely made a dent in the huge mountain of comestibles. The food was taken away and the drumming began again.

"You are welcome to join in our dancing," said Culil Matroci. "You are citizens of Sumar-ka now. You are no longer Strangers."

"That is very kind of you," Chakotay replied. "I can't speak for Mr. Paris, but I'm far too full to dance right now."

The handsome young face turned its inquiring gaze upon Paris. "I'm stuffed," he admitted, "and

I'm still recovering. We'll enjoy watching you, though," he said, and immediately wondered if he had committed a gross faux pas. But Matroci nodded, as if he had expected the response, and turned to his people.

"Our hearts are full. Our bellies are full. The Grafters have been good to us. The fruits ripen on the trees, the beasts fairly leap into our traps and nets to provide us nourishment. Sometimes they ask something of us for their goodness to us. Winnif, rise."

Slowly, the woman who had borne the deformed child stood. Paris watched her closely. From what Chakotay had said, having her child taken from her had devastated her. There was nothing of grief about her now. She stood proudly, a small smile on her face. She looked like a woman who had done something wonderful, and knew it Those who were seated near her looked up at her with a sort of awe.

"Winnif, you have sacrificed your child unto the care of the gods. They have accepted your offering."

'Truly," said Yulura. "I returned this afternoon to the sacred mountain, and the child had indeed been taken by the Crafters!"

"It is well," said Matroci.

"It is well!" came the full-voiced cry of response.

"At such times as this we dance, to thank the Crafters and to ask for their continued protection against the encroachment of the Alilann." The words were allegedly directed to everyone present, but Paris doubted mat the villagers needed to be told what their dancing signified. The explanation was for him and Chakotay.

"For generations we have coexisted peacefully, but the last series of talks and debates with the Alilann went poorly. We owe it to the Grafters not to diminish their importance in our lives by accepting the ways of the Alilann. We will not fight them, but we will stand firm. And when we do, we shall wear garments that are blessed, that will keep us from harm. The Grafters will wash away the Alilann, and we, the Culilann, will remain. Come, let us dance!"

Slowly, with reverence and closed eyes, bodies lost to the