differences
between his generation and the parent stock.

Thin and wiry, his skin was brown from the gentle toasting of the
summer sun, making the fairness of his closely cropped hair even more
noticeable. At his side was his long bow, carefully wrapped in
water-resistant flying-dragon skin, and from the belt which supported
his short breeches of tanned duocorn hide swung a two-foot blade--half
wood-knife, half sword. To the eyes of his Terran forefathers he would
have presented a barbaric picture. In his own mind he was amply clad
and armed for the man-journey which was both his duty and his
heritage to make before he took his place as a full adult in the
Council of Free Men.

In contrast to Dalgard's smooth skin, Sssuri was covered with a fluffy
pelt of rainbow-tipped gray fur. In place of the human's steel blade,
he wore one of bone, barbed and ugly, as menacing as the spear now
resting in the bottom of the outrigger. And his round eyes watched the
sea with the familiarity of one whose natural home was beneath those
same waters.

The mouth of the cove was narrow, but after they negotiated it they
found themselves in a pocket of bay, sheltered and calm, into which
trickled a lazy stream. The gray-blue of the seashore sand was only a
fringe beyond which was turf and green stuff. Sssuri's nostril flaps
expanded as he tested the warm breeze, and Dalgard was busy
cataloguing scents as they dragged their craft ashore. They could not
have found a more perfect place for a camp site.

Once the canoe was safely beached, Sssuri picked up his spear and,
without a word or backward glance, waded out into the sea,
disappearing into the depths, while his companion set about his share
of camp tasks. It was still early in the summer--too early to expect
to find ripe fruit. But Dalgard rummaged in his voyager's bag and
brought out a half-dozen crystal beads. He laid these out on a
flat-topped stone by the stream, seating himself cross-legged beside
it.

To the onlooker it would appear that the traveler was meditating. A
wide-winged living splotch of color fanned by overhead; there was a
distant yap of sound. Dalgard neither looked nor listened. But perhaps
a minute later what he awaited arrived. A hopper, its red-brown fur
sleek and gleaming in the sun, its eternal curiosity drawing it,
peered cautiously from the bushes. Dalgard made mind touch. The
hoppers did not really think--at least not on the levels where
communication wa