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"Do I belong?" Vell asked. "I'd never have dreamed to be invited on such an expedition as this. Sometimes I wonder why the spirit chose me. The entire tribe was assembled at Morgur's Mound. Why didn't the beast choose Sungar as its vessel, or Keirkrad the Shaman? Did it pick me at random out of all the Uthgardt there? Even an outsider responds to the beast's summons better than I."

"Gods, don't think that," said Kellin. "It hasn't been easy for me. That moment on Highharvestide, I felt a nagging dread wash over my body and settle in my stomach. I haven't been able to get rid of it. That's just a taste of what you must have experienced." Vell nodded. She was the first person to try to excuse his weakness. It felt good, but he instinctively mistrusted it for coming from an outsider. "But what's interesting is, it's starting to fade now that I'm here. It's crazy that I'm here, but somehow it feels right, too. Am I making sense?"

"Yes," Vell said. "And I'm glad you're here." Then Keirkrad appeared behind him, seemingly popping out of nowhere.

"I, too, would like to greet our new arrival," the shaman said.

"Oh," said Vell. To Kellin, he whispered, "We shall talk again," before walking out of the tent.

Keirkrad stared at Kellin. She found his eyes unnerving-they were blue as the sky, and so piercing and unwavering. His body appeared frail and crumpled, and he was hunched over like some gargoyle. A brisk wind disturbed the flaps of the tent, and Keirkrad looked almost as if he'd blow away with it.

"I trust you are shaman Seventoes," Kellin said. "Sungar has told me of you."

"He has told me about you," Keirkrad said. He stood very close to her, and she could see a brown film coating his yellowed teeth. "No matter how much you've heard about our tribe's penchant for hospitality at Grunwald, you should know that those times are passed. We no longer consort with outsiders. You are not welcome here."

"I'm here because your totem spirit guided me here," Kellin retorted. "I should think that I would be treated with the greatest courtesy."

Keirkrad sniffed. "Southern humor translates poorly to our tongue. You may think the Thunderbeast sent you here, but I shall be the judge of that. I remember your father well. For a month he lived as we lived in Grunwald. We tolerated him because we thought him an amusing diversion-an outsider who wanted to know our ways. We did not realize he had made himself our chronicler as well, that he put us in books. What death befell Zale Lyme?"

"He died in his sickbed," said Kellin.

"A suitable death," Keirkrad said. "Unheroic."

"Your King Gundar died the same way, as I understand."

Keirkrad ignored her comment. "I just got back from retrieving Vell, who thought to abandon his people in their time of need. I hope his moment of weakness is over. Sungar says you will come with us into the wood. He is my chief and I will not question his wisdom. But I will not let you taint the mind of Vell or any other Thunderbeast with your ways."

"I've spent my life studying the Uthgardt, as my father did," Kellin told him. "The last thing I'd want to do is to change you."

"Have you brought books with you?" asked Keirkrad.

"Yes," she said. "Various reference works that might help me understand what's happening to your tribe."

"Let me see one of these books," said Keirkrad.

Warily, Kellin went to the corner of her tent and picked up a thick volume from her collection. Keirkrad snatched it and flipped through it, idly running his fingers over the lines of dense text. There were occasional illustrations-line drawings of costumes and tribal emblems. He found one sketch of King Gundar himself. At that he snapped the book shut.

Keirkrad looked at the leather-bound cover.

"What does this say?" asked Keirkrad, tracing the embossed title.

"It says, Customs of the Northern Barbarians." She hesitated before adding, "By Zale Lyme."

"Oh." Keirkrad looked up at her. "Your father wrote this?"

"Yes," she said.

Keirkrad tore the book to shreds. The binding snapped under his bony hands, and he ripped the pages free,