st and
thrust it into the petaled orifice. When he turned the hook in a
quick motion the length of green writhed and curled around his arm.
He pulled something small and dark out and threw it to the ground,
extending the twisting green shape towards Brion. "Put your mouth to
the end and drink," he said.

Lea needed the water more, but he drank first, suspicious of the
living water source. A hollow below the writhing petals was filling
with straw-colored water from the fibrous, reedy interior. He raised
it to his mouth and drank. The water was hot and tasted swampy.
Sudden sharp pains around his mouth made him jerk the thing away.
Tiny glistening white barbs projected from the petals pink-tipped
now with his blood. Brion swung towards the Disan angrily--and
stopped when he looked at the other man's face. His mouth was
surrounded by many small white scars.

"The _vaede_ does not like to give up its water, but it always
does," the man said.

Brion drank again, then put the vaede to Lea's mouth. She moaned
without regaining consciousness, her lips seeking reflexively for
the life-saving liquid. When she was satisfied Brion gently drew the
barbs from her flesh and drank again. The Disan hunkered down on
his heels and watched them expressionlessly. Brion handed back the
vaede, then held some of the clothes so that Lea was in their shade.
He settled to the same position as the native and looked closely
at him.

Squatting immobile on his heels, the Disan appeared perfectly
comfortable under the flaming sun. There was no trace of
perspiration on his naked, browned skin. Long hair fell to his
shoulders, and startlingly blue eyes stared back at Brion from
deepset sockets. The heavy kilt around his loins was the only
garment he wore. Once more the vaede rested over his shoulder, still
stirring unhappily. Around his waist was the same collection of
leather, stone and brass objects that had been in the solido. Two of
them now had meaning to Brion: the tube-and-mouthpiece, a blowgun of
some kind; and the specially shaped hook for opening the vaede. He
wondered if the other strangely formed things had equally practical
functions. If you accepted them as artifacts with a purpose--not
barbaric decorations--you had to accept their owner as something
more than the crude savage he resembled.

"My name is Brion. And you--"

"You may not have my name. Why are you here? To kill my people?"

Brion forced away the memory of last night