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Valmir had washed the iron kettle, refilled it, and it was just now beginning to bubble over the fire. For washing and shaving, he'd explained.

"Something wrong?" Valmir asked Berun.

"No," Berun replied.

"You been quiet since Sauk and the others left."

Berun rubbed his temples to clear his head. One bit of good news, at least. Perch was back. While Val washed the kettle and cups, Berun had taken the opportunity to reach out to his friend. The little lizard was up in the trees, watching them. The approaching storm had made him skittish, and he was worrying over the absence of his tail. But he'd found a comfortable place in the canopy to watch. His feelings came through, touching the edge of Berun's consciousness-Come down? Warm sleep?

Berun sent out a call-not words, but the intent was clear: Not yet. Fight coming. Be ready.

The wind had the trees swaying in a chorus racket, but Berun's sharp ears picked up something rattling in the branches overhead.

Not yet, he told the lizard. Sit-sit-sit. Be ready. – ready-ready-ready. Fight-fight-fight! Tooth-and-claw-and-fight!

Berun concentrated, sending forth one image, one thought wrapped in a question-Tiger…?

Gone-gone. Over hill with the big-big one. Big one grab-grabbed my tail. My-tail-my-tail-my-taill New tail soon, Perch. Be ready. Fight coming.

Fight-fight-fight!

Berun smiled and called out to Valmir. "The soup all you have to eat?"

The blond man had just finished stowing the cleaned cups in his pack. "Still hungry? I warned you not to expect too much from my cooking."

"It isn't that."

"Then what?"

Berun shrugged and said, "Just… Sauk's mention of 'old times' reminded me of something."

"And what's that have to do with my soup?" asked Val.

Berun poked at the fire with a stick, sending a torrent of sparks into the air and stirring the flames to new life. "Back when I used to live at the Fortress," he said, "I did more than work for the Old Man. Besides… doing what I did, I was also the best cook between Teylan Shan and Yal Tengri."

"That's not saying much," said Val, "considering that half the tribes out here drink rotten horse milk."

"Ah, have a little faith," said Berun. "Let me prove it to you."

"You want to cook for us?" "I do."

Val tilted his head and looked at Berun through narrowed eyes. "Why?"

"Why not? I'm not tired, but I am still hungry, and if all we have are supplies for soup, I could show you some spices that you might not have tried before. You have anything better to do?"

Val's gaze did not soften. "Spices?" "In my pack."

"And there wouldn't be anything else in your pack that we should worry about?"

Berun sighed. "If you don't trust me, you could keep the pack and hand me what I need."

Valmir looked to Kerlis, who was sitting, morose, by his own fire, and Dren, who was sitting beside Lewan and honing his dagger over a whetstone. "You two have any objections?"

Dren just shrugged. Kerlis scowled and spat into the fire.

"You sit still," Valmir told Berun, and he walked over to where most of the camp's supplies were piled. He found Berun's large leather satchel and returned to the fire. He sat, opened the flap, and turned the open satchel into the firelight. "Let's see if we can get this over with before the rain hits."

"See the roll of felt wrapped in twine?" said Berun. "Yeah."

"Those are needles and spare arrowheads," said Berun. "Quite sharp, so don't unwrap them. On the other side of the spare clothes is an inner pocket. See it?"

"Yes."

"In that pocket is a small leather bag stitched with a red thread. Make sure it's the pocket on the opposite side from the needles. The other pocket is poisons."

"Poisons?"

"I live most of the year in the wild. I sometimes have to hunt things larger than me, and it takes a bit more than an arrow to bring them down."

Val removed a leather bag slightly larger than his hand. "This it?"

"The very one." Berun reached for it.

But Val drew it back, untied the drawstring, and looked inside. "How about you tell me what