revery.
Flies crawled over her bare arms, unheeded.

"I got away," Mag said. "I saw them coming. They can't run fast, and I
knew the hiding places. I never went back to the valleys. Nell would
have starved without me. And there was Lisa to care for, later...."

The flies settled on Eric's hands and he brushed them away, shivering.

Mag smiled. The bitterness left her face. "I'm glad I don't have to send
Lisa down to the valley."

She got up before he could answer, before he could even think of
anything to say or do. Crossing over to the pole where the dried meat
hung, she pulled a piece of it loose and brought it back to where they
sat. Some she gave to the old woman and some she kept for herself and
the rest, most of it, she tossed to Eric.

"You must be hungry, boy."

It was filthy. Dirt clung to it--dust and pollen and grime--and the
flies had flown off in clouds when she lifted it down.

The old woman raised her piece and put the edge of it in her mouth and
started to chew, slowly, eating her way up the strip. Mag tore hers with
her teeth, rending it and swallowing it quickly, watching Eric all the
time.

"Eat."

It was unreal. He couldn't be here. These women couldn't exist.

He lifted the meat, feeling his stomach knot with disgust, wanting to
fling it from him and run, blindly, down the hill to the aircar. But he
didn't. He had searched too long to flee now. Shuddering, he closed his
mind to the flies and the smell and the filth and bit into the meat and
chewed it and swallowed it. And all the time, Mag watched him.

The sun passed overhead and began to dip toward the west. The shadows,
which had shortened as they sat in front of the hut, lengthened again,
until they themselves were half in the shadow of the trees lining the
gorge. Still Lisa did not come. It was very quiet. The only sounds that
broke the silence were their own voices and the buzzing of the flies.

They talked, but communication was difficult between them. Eric tried to
accept their ideas, their way of life, but he couldn't. The things they
said were strange to him. Their whole pattern of life was strange to
him. He could understand it at all only because he had studied the
primitive peoples of the old race. But he couldn't imagine himself as
one of them. He couldn't think of himself as having grown up among them,
in the hills, living only to hunt and gather berries and store food for
the wintertime. He couldn't think of himself hi