Faro stood in the wind, watching the short beings butcher the white beast's body. They had deftly stripped its hide and pulled its entrails free. They turned the beast's own hide flesh-side up on the gravel, laying its organs atop it. One of the females took the intestines and began cleaning them in a pool of tide-locked saltwater. Faro tried to keep his face placid so as not to insult them.

The process was not entirely foreign to him; he had witnessed the quthli prepare their kills, from a respectful distance. It was a horrifying scene, and no amount of familiarity with the quthli could keep the revolting smells of flesh from threatening to gag him. His eyes watered at the foul stink, and he hoped that the small beings would think it the wind that stung them. A swarm of gulls hovered above the butchering, crying and swooping for any bit of gristle that fell.

The grey-bearded creature who had written the message in the sand stood beside him, leaning forward on spear like a staff. He waved to get Faro's attention and pointed at himself.

"Klötig," he said. Then making a circling motion with his finger followed by pointing at others in the group and then circling again. "Dhar." Once more he pointed at himself. "Klötig." His words had a strange forward momentum, a deep resonant music that was unlike any speech Faro had heard. The creature repeated this pattern of pointing and speaking a few times, and then he pointed at Faro, raising his thick brow. He jerked his finger in Faro's direction once, as if to emphasize the question.

"Faro."

"Faro," the old warrior said, nodding. To Faro's surprise, he had pronounced the Noshian "r" perfectly. But then, it was a similar sound to the "r" in the word he had repeated: "dhar."

Once again, the being pointed at himself.

"Klotig."

"Klotig," Faro repeated, pointing at him. Klotig smiled and nodded, tugging on his beard with his free hand. Coir's face grew hair, but it was nothing like this long and glistening mane that hung from Klotig's face. Klotig circled with his finger toward the others again.

"Dhar."

"Dhar," Faro repeated, copying the motion. Klotig nodded.

A few more members of the dhar—if Faro rightly understood— emerged from the hole in the ground, carrying wide platters. The carcass of the beast suffered under at least ten knives as the workers parted out strips and pieces, laying them upon the platters which were carried back heavy-laden into the ground. Faro stepped toward the hole and looked down. Curving steps were carved into stone, disappearing into the dark. The opening was small, so that the dhar lifted the platters over their heads to fit as they passed up and down.

It took less than an hour for the dhar to reduce the carcass to bones, but even the bones they separated and placed in a hide sack. In the end, the only sign that a great monster had lain upon the gravel was clotted blood. Klotig and the other armed warriors waited until the others had vanished down into the hole, and then Klotig motioned toward it.

"Faro," he said, pointing downward.

Faro looked around the cove. He had expected this, but he still hesitated. The thought of entering that little hole in the ground filled him with a chill worse than the wind, but he knew he could not survive without shelter. The dhar obviously ate meat, and if they remained friendly, he would likely need to scavenge for seaweed, but perhaps they had fresh water. They must certainly have some form of shelter and warmth.

He nodded, tried to smile, and stepped toward the hole. Pressing his arms to his sides, he placed his foot on the first step. His toes jutted well over the edge, and as he took a few more steps, his throat tightening, he realized he would have to lean back, so he turned and faced the stairs, using both hands and feet to descend backwards. The turn of the stairs was awkward, but it only continued for perhaps twenty feet below the strand. The smell of fish and brine was strong. A little light made it to the bottom, reflected off the stone of the stairway. It was enough for him to see a stone-framed doorway, high enough that he could pass through by walking hunched, but he could not see beyond it. There was no light.

"Faro," a voice said. It was Klotig, coming down the stairs behind him.

"I can't see," Faro said, more out of his own fear than any expectation that the dhar would understand him. Klotig slid past him on the tight landing, then took Faro's hand and placed it on his own shoulder.

"Tun," the dhar said, and stepped through the doorway. The roof of the tunnel beyond was so low that Faro had to remain hunched to follow, but he kept a hold on the dhar's shoulder. Klotig did not walk so fast as to make it difficult, but there were turns in the dark, and Faro knew quickly that if he lost the dhar, he might never escape this nightmare hole in the ground. His pulse raced, and he was sweating even though his mouth was dry. He couldn't see a thing.

The air was unnaturally still, and it was quiet except for the footfalls of Klotig and the dhar behind them. He had listened to the seaside wind for so long that the sudden lack of it was unsettling. It felt like he had been robbed of his senses. He focused on the feel of the smooth rock beneath his feet, the rough hide of Klotig's coat, and the smell of dampness, trying to keep down the panic. Walking upon the ice-flow had not troubled him as much as this.

They followed the tunnel for a long time, far longer than Faro would have expected. At times, he did sense the subtle movement of air from right or left, or sounds changed, echoing in more open spaces. Apart from a few turnings, they kept a straight plodding path. At last, he saw a glimmer, a faint blue light with occasional flecks of red or orange. As they continued, the light grew strong enough that he could barely make out the walls and ceilings of the tunnel and the outline of their path. He even saw the vague silhouette of Klotig's head. It was as if the walls and ceiling of the tunnel gave off the dimmest light.

He heard voices at the same moment that he realized he no longer crouched—the tunnel had risen in height. A flicker of stronger light shone ahead. It looked like firelight coming from around a corner, and the smell of roasting flesh stung his nose. What nightmare world had he let himself be led into? Around the corner, they came to a great pair of open doors made or covered with some kind of metal that reflected the light with a burnished sheen. They were covered in symbols that he did not recognize. They looked like masterful wood-carvings, except they were worked in metal. He had never seen anything like it. The doors were open outward, resting against the sides of the tunnel, and through the archway he saw a great hall lined with carven pillars.

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Klotig led him inwards, patting Faro's hand at his shoulder. Without realizing it, Faro had gripped a wad of the dhar's heavy hide garment. Hesitantly, he released his cramped fingers. He could see, but he felt far from safe. Metal lamps burned with open flame, giving off a strong smell of fish. A great table stretched down the center of the long hall, and to one end lay a great hearth that crackled with flame. The hearth was big enough that a spit roasted flesh and a cauldron steamed within it, and there was still room for more. The fumes and smoke rose upward to a hole in the arched ceiling, but still the air was hazy.

The dhär were there, filling the hall by the scores. Most no longer wore their heavy hide clothing, instead clothed in hair or hide shirts and dresses, shawls and hoods and tunics dyed in bright hues. Over all they wore chains and brooches and rings on their hands, arms, and necks. Their long hair and beards were braided with rings as well, shining with the polished luster of metals and stones Faro had never seen and could not name. The air had grown far milder as they had walked, and now it was quite warm. Faro's fingers and toes throbbed as they warmed.

Even as he gaped at this throng, the dhar stared back at him. The hall had fallen quiet. There were far more dhar present than had seen him on the beach. Among them, Faro noticed both males and females, and what must have been their children, for they were no taller than Faro's knee. Even the children wore jewelry. Still in his heavy coat of hide and fur, Klotig walked to the center of the hall, the buttcap of his spear keeping time with his steps. There he stopped, looked around, and drew in a breath.

"Ulin elgana tûkith-farir na gar," he said, loud enough that all in the hall could clearly hear. He pointed at Faro and continued speaking in their strange, deep tongue, its rhythms like a march or the beating of one's own heart right before sleep. Klotig's speech continued for some time, during which he and those in the hall often looked at Faro. The music of the language to played upon Faro's ears. It was a music new and moving, and it calmed some of his fear. At last, with a flourish of rising volume, Klotig finished his speech, and in deep unison the other dhar intoned some word of response.

Klotig walked back over to Faro.

"Faro," he said, motioning toward the table. The dhar led him to the bench near the far end of the table closest to the fire and motioned for him to sit. Faro quickly realized that he would have to pull the trestle bench away if he was to actually fit his legs beneath the table. Klotig must have realized the same, for with a grin, he grabbed the bench and scooted it back. Once Faro had sat, Klotig sat down next to him. They were no sooner seated than one of the females set cups and a pitcher before them. Other dhar sat down along either side of the table. The table itself was roughly twenty yards long, with benches on either side. Various dhar carried platters of steaming meat from the hearth to the table, as well as stone dishes of other foods Faro could not identify. The smell of flesh was strong, as was the smoke, and he had to try to breathe slowly so as not to retch. His eyes itched and his nose began to run.

Klotig poured from the pitcher into the cups and motioned for Faro to take one. Klotig held up his own cup of carven stone in both hands and waited for Faro to raise his. When Faro had lifted his, Klotig said something and drank. Faro raised the cup slowly to his mouth, giving himself time to smell the liquid beneath his nose. He detected nothing rank or vile about it, though it had a pungent smell. Not wanting to offend his host, he drank. The taste was exceedingly bitter, with a sour finish. The liquid was heavy, but it was not revolting. There was a refreshing coolness to the drink, as well. His thirst was great; his only drink since his flight had been snow melted in his mouth.

"Küg," Klotig said, pointed at the liquid within his cup. "Küg."

"Küg," Faro repeated. Klotig smiled.

Klotig was content to sit in silence, observing as the serving dhar finished lading the table for the feast. There was more than enough to marvel. The dhar were remarkable creatures, and while the smells were vile, the glimmer of metals and jewels reflected the lights in the hall. Even the carvings on the pillars and walls were inlaid with unfamiliar metals. He had seen steel and iron. Coir had told him of silver and gold, but he had not seen them. He wondered if the burnished platters and curved plates set along the length of the table were made of such treasured substances.

Something else caught Faro's eye, and in the circumstances, took his attention even more than the marvelous metals. He saw many cups of fine glasswork, and some of the dishes set upon the table were baked and served in ceramics vessels. The designs upon the glasswork and a few of the ceramics were familiar. One in particular had clear Vienwé characters impressed upon it, and he saw Vien makers' marks on some of the glassware.

He took another long drink of the küg, trying to overpower the foul smells that he could almost taste. At least Klotig had not offered him meat to eat. Up and down the table, other dhar were eating, drinking, and talking, some males and some females. At first, Faro thought it was the females who were serving, but now he realized it was the young, both males and females, who served the older.

Someone moved at his shoulder, and he looked up and saw the dhar female whom he had seen first upon the shore—who had fed the little creatures with fish from a bucket. She set a platter down on the table before Faro. He felt his stomach turn, expecting it to be meat, but it wasn't. Slices of dried fruit lay in rings upon the metal platter. There were apples and prunes and peaches, all on a bed of dried kelp.

Klotig was smiling, and he motioned to Faro's food, nodding. Faro reached out and took an apple slice, popping it into his mouth. As he did so, Klotig reached out to another nearby platter and speared a long slice of flesh on the tip of a short knife, drawing it onto a plate. He cut pieces from the slice and popped the bits into his mouth. Faro tried not to look, not wanting his nausea to grow any worse. The tang of the apple helped. He broke off a piece of the dried kelp and tasted it. It was heavily salted, but the flavor was not terrible.

He understood how the dhar might have kelp, but how did they come by apples and prunes? He had not seen a single tree—nor any other living plant—upon the land. Everything on the surface was barren, a waste of blasting wind, snow, and crashing surf. He glanced a Klotig, who was starting in upon a second long slice of flesh. If only he could speak their language, to ask how this could be. The dhar had some contact with Vien. They possessed Vien glassware and ceramics, and Klotig had written two Vienwé words in the sand. It was clear that Klotig did not speak Vienwé, nor did the dhar use the Vienwé script themselves, judging by the strange symbols carved into surfaces all around the hall. They clearly had their own writing.

As he chewed on a dried plum, Faro remembered Coir telling him of creatures who traded precious metals and jewels with the humans in the far east. He had called them dwarves. Were these some of the same? He had not heard of trade among the dwarves and the Inevien, but clearly there was contact.

Soon, Faro sat with a full belly. His head felt light, as if it floated. Despite his itchy eyes and runny nose, his muscles were relaxed, and he soaked in the music of the dhar voices all around. Their first hunger sated, the dhar had begun to sing—songs deep and fierce, sorrowful and joyful. In song after song, dhar voices joined with flutes and pipes. Klotig drank and ate and sang along. Faro could not understand how Klotig could eat so much, slicing pieces of the roasted organs of the beast they had butchered and stuffing them into his beard. It was hard to tell if he had a neck behind the beard that covered his chest. It looked almost like his head sat directly upon his shoulders judging by heighth. The hair of his beard was coarse and wiry, but the dark grey locks of his head shone. The long braids of the females were especially lustrous, as if soaked in oil. Though short, their frames were wider than a Vien's, and he had no doubt strength filled them. Their hands looked brutish, but they played their instruments deftly enough.

The servers kept Faro's cup full, and the heat of the lamps and the fire embraced the whole hall. Faro felt the great incongruence between the captivating music and speech of the dhar and the foul reek of smoke and roasted flesh. The longer he sat, the greater his weariness, but his belly was full and his body warm. He was alive.

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