They followed a meandering path of depressed cleg that would ultimately bring them to the small town called Thletix. The warm midday light beat down from above. Xarhn danced ahead of Zamani, paitcap rattling as she skipped and hopped joyously. Her laughter was a song of delight; Zamani could almost forget the pain in his ankle as he limped behind her. He could almost forget his anxiety at so boldly thrusting himself into the foreign heart of Phar Sheeth – so far removed from the security of his forest home, but thoughts did enter in, and he was obliged to wrestle with each of them.

He considered his new experiences and his great lack of knowledge. From his spying at Mithal-Moun, surely he knew more than any Sith, with the exception of the Mithal, of course. Vigilant observation had given him an understanding of the petty machinations of the Shee. However, the matter of the failing pyre gem had shown him just how little he actually knew of their circumstances. Perhaps meeting the Teller at school today would be of some merit. Perhaps the elder Shee had somewhat to offer.

Zamani remembered his battle with the Greebit thing. His head still hurt from banging it soundly against the zeeda bole. He considered the straight rows of hardening zarglenuts he had seen in the fields of Pax; a deft stroke or two with his iron knife might fashion a thick, protective cap suitable for his next encounter with the bothersome beast.

He remembered the words of Pax: “Accept my treasure as your own.” Now, what could he possibly do with a silk-headed girl, he wondered. She would be useless in the nholas, and he couldn’t stay here, with their endless sowing and reaping. No - that did not appeal to him at all. Yet, she might be of some use in setting his meals; he had liked the attention she'd given earlier. And - he liked her dancing.

But, then other words came to him: “Leave the boy at least his name.” No, it would never work, he thought. She did not figure into his world. And he: what must he sacrifice to belong to a silk-headed girl? What freedoms, what treasures would he lose in the barter? He actually ached when he got near her. Was that any way for a king to feel? It just would not work. He eyed the lovely creature, who had tired of dance and now marched by his side, attempting to match the cadence of his faltering stride.

“Your limp is better,” she said.

“I thank you.”

“It’s still a limp. Taran.”

He was drawn into her broad, infectious smile. “And, you’re still a silkhead,” said he.

“Are you sad?” she asked. “You’ve hardly said a word.”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“About school?”

“. . . Yes.”

“Oh! I know,” she merrily chirped, “You should make a berribit fly for Teller.”

Zamani laughed, “That would be fun.”

Following a brief and thoughtful silence, Xarhn said in somber tones, “You’re a strange one, Zami.”

“Zamani.”

“Are you always blue?”

“Coosith!” he swore. He had forgotten to relax his colors. He saw how intently the girl inspected him, and now he realized that if he did not bend his colors once in a while, he would not blend in; he might as well shout to the Shee that Zhereen was a lie. He kicked himself mentally: at this rate, he would give himself away before midday was half gone.

With the pretense of a smile and a sigh, Zamani flooded brown. He apologized, “Sorry. I get that way when I think. Living in the nholas is not without cost.”

She asked, “how long have you lived there?”

“Forever.”

“You should have come sooner.” When he did not immediately answer, she asked, “When did you get stuck?”

Zamani had to laugh at such a genuine nature. “I was very small,” he said.

“Do you have memories of Zhereen?”

He stiffened at the fleeting image of his mother's face. And there it was in his chest: the pain of loss he had hoped he would never feel again.

“Only the Norsey,” he fibbed.

“Did your father bring you out for a walk and lose sight of you? Is that what happened?”

Zamani flooded darkly. Reds swirled unbidden from memories long forgotten. He hated the very thought of his father. There was too much pain in that topic; he would have to change the subject quickly. Grinding his teeth, he commanded calm within himself. Then he took a breath and answered.

“No. I found a secret way out. If I wanted, I could find my way back, but, no more talk of this. The Maker is my father now, and the forest is my home.”

“You could live with us,” Xarhn suggested. She got no response. “Or, we could build our own mon. Mithal would likely give us father's back field.”

“I’ve seen what you Shee do,” he answered a bit too harshly. “I’ve watched from the nholas for middays untold: your constant sowing of seeds, the uninterrupted revelry, and long processions. Where’s the challenge in such a life; where’s the adventure? The problem with you Shee is that you have nothing new in your world.”

Downcast, Xarhn replied, “We have you.”

Zamani regretted his short tirade; he needed to soften his words. “Besides,” he added gently, “I’ve sowing and reaping, in the nholas, you cannot imagine.”

“Tell me,” she prompted, her smile returning.

“The forest sows itself,” he explained with a grand sweep of his arm. “Each creature sows its own kind. The dirt gathers all to feed upon, and so, floaters reap floaters; shrooms reap shrooms, and Zamani dances among them all taking what pleases him.”

“Do I please you?”

“How like an addled girl to hear only whispers when joy is shouted.”

A mock frown covered Xarhn's face, knotting her brow and pursing her lips. She spoke slowly and deliberately, “I said ‘do I please you?’ Don’t make me hurt you.”

He could not at first tell if she was serious behind the mask of a joke, or if she joked to lighten the strain of their conversation, but her colors soon belied a silent longing and desperation of heart. What was he to make of such a one? At last, he smiled.

“Yes, girl, you please me well.”

They approached the smaller path that wound toward Tazig-mon. The dwelling stood among sedge rows, and square patches of cultivated nechsta. Behind the mon were four small structures each housing, as Xarhn explained, a single spinner. They stopped by the path as Xarhn continued to explain. From the spinners were taken many useful items: silk for vestments drawn out upon a wheel, medicine from venom to cure them of ills, and nutritious eggs for barter and meals. There was more, but Zamani was not paying attention. His mind already on the school, he considered the questions he would ask of their Teller.

Two small figures raced up the path from the mon. The girl wore a simple skirt much like Xarhn's and carried a silk-wrapped bundle. The boy also carried a bundle and was dressed in a common sedge-slatted loincloth. Breathing heavily, the pair stopped short of Zamani on Xarhn's side. Their excitement was obvious as they nervously clutched the bundles to them. They stared at him in wide-eyed expectation as Xarhn greeted them with cheer. Their flooding indicated fear and uncertainty.

“Midday greetings,” she said to the pair of them. She pulled Zamani close and made the introductions. “Well, here he is. Zami, this is Tosh and her own Voytk.”

The boy and girl fairly beamed; their skins were brown. The two, and Xarhn, seemed unable to contain their happiness. They were all thoroughly brown as if something special had taken place -- as if a light had fallen from the sky. He hoped something more than giddy fidgeting would soon take place; patience just wasn’t his strength.

Zamani had gone to great pains to appear Sith-like; his loincloth was almost identical to that which the boy wore. His cap could not be that strange. His bag now felt large and conspicuous; he regretted bringing it. He really wished the boy and girl would stop staring at him, but he had to play along. Xarhn's abuse of his name grated, yet, he would somehow force himself to fit in.

Tosh dropped her bundle and took a tentative step forward, exuding, “He’s so tall!”

“He stands above me,” Xarhn answered possessively.

“We wanted very much to meet you,” said Voytk, submitting the knuckles of one hand.

Zamani was at a loss; he had not learned of this gesture at Mithal-Moun. He wondered if the boy was up to something. Was there an object concealed in his hand? As the moment began to stretch, he felt Xarhn take his hand in her own. She extended his hand, knuckles first, toward the boy, who seemed pleased to touch it. How odd, Zamani thought.

“It’s a greeting,” Xarhn told him.

Zamani made eye contact with the boy and ad-libbed, “Midday greetings.”

He turned and extended his hand toward the girl. Do the girl, he thought. Maybe they would all quit smiling, and he could be on his way, but the girl whitened and turned pleading eyes toward Xarhn, who quickly grabbed his hand and pulled it back. The boy and girl giggled nervously.

Voytk explained, “The greeting is for boys only. To greet Tosh in that way is to show charm, and if you charm my girl, will you not get a thrashing from yours?”

“You save your charm for me,” Xarhn pouted prettily.

Zamani could not see himself feeling embarrassed, so he chose to feel annoyed instead. How was he supposed to know every silly custom of these strange creatures? At once, he wished he was back home among the nholas where there was certainty, where there was control, where boys did not explain and girls did not laugh. He tasted anger.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I am stupid. In your world, I am newly born, but turn from me now, all of you, and I will surely surprise you with something of my world.”

“Ooh!” Xarhn exclaimed, pulling the others around with her.

“Cover your eyes,” commanded Zamani.

They covered their eyes obediently and giggled. Zamani summoned his glamor, making himself invisible. This would show them, he thought.

“I’ll meet you at school,” he said.

When the three turned to look, Zamani was gone. He was nowhere at all to be seen. They turned this way and that, gasping in disbelief at the emptiness in all directions. Without a word to her friends, Xarhn bolted down the path toward school. Voytk and Tosh followed close upon her heels, bundles in tow. When they became three purple spots on the path to Thletix, Zamani put off his glamor and followed slowly. A mighty laugh welled up from deep within; he could not hold it back. He was proud of his trickery, and content to walk alone.