I don’t understand, quite, Ivar thought. But, thrilled within him, she’s thoughtful, intelligent, grave, as well as sweet and blithe.
“Yah, I should start Dulcy baby-popping,” Mikkal said. “The wet stage isn’t too ghastly a nuisance, I’m told.” When weaned, children moved into dormitory wagons. “On the other hand,” he added, “I’ve told a few whoppers myself, when I had me a mark with jingle in his pockets—”
A shape blotted out the sun. They bounded to their feet.
That which was descending passed the disc, and light blazed off the gold-bronze pinions of a six-meter wingspan. Air whistled and thundered. Fraina cried out. Mikkal poised his javelin. “Don’t!” Ivar shouted. “Ya-lawa! He’s Ythrian!”
“O-o-oh, ye-e-es,” Mikkal said softly. He lowered the spear though he kept it ready. Fraina gripped Ivar’s arm and leaned hard against him.
The being landed. Ivar had met Ythrians before, at the University and elsewhere. But his astonishment at this arrival was such that he gaped as if he were seeing one for the first time.
Grounded, the newcomer used those tremendous wings, folded downward, for legs, claws at the bend of them spreading out to serve as feet, the long rear-directed bones lending extra support when at rest. That brought his height to some 135 centimeters, mid-breast on Ivar, farther up on the tinerans; for his mass was a good 25 kilos. Beneath a prowlike keelbone were lean yellow-skinned arms whose hands, evolved from talons, each bore three sharp-clawed fingers flanked by two thumbs, and a dewclaw on the inner wrist. Above were a strong neck and a large head proudly held. The skull bulged backward to contain the brain, for there was scant brow, the face curving down in a ridged muzzle to a mouth whose sensitive lips contrasted curiously with the carnivore fangs behind. A stiff feather-crest rose over head and neck, white edged with black like the fan-shaped tail. Otherwise, apart from feet, arms, and huge eyes which burned gold and never seemed to waver or blink, the body was covered with plumage of lustrous brown.
He wore an apron whose pockets, loops, and straps supported what little equipment he needed. Knife, canteen, and pistol were the only conspicuous items. He could live off the country better than any human.
Mikkal inhaled smoke, relaxed, smiled, lifted and dipped his weapon in salute. “Hay-ah, wayfarer,” he said formally, “be welcome among us in the Peace of Water, where none are enemies. We’re Mikkal of Redtop and my sister Fraina of Jubilee, from the Waybreak Train; and our companyo is Rolf Mariner, varsiteer.”
The Anglic which replied was sufficiently fluent that one couldn’t be sure how much of the humming accent and sibilant overtones were due to Ythrian vocal organs, how much simply to this being an offplanet dialect the speaker had learned. “Thanks, greetings, and fair winds wished for you. I hight Erannath, of the Stormgate choth upon Avalon. Let me quench thirst and we can talk if you desire.”
As awkward on the ground as he was graceful aloft, he stumped to the pool. When he bent over to drink, Ivar glimpsed the gill-like antlibranchs, three on either side of his body. They were closed now, but in flight the muscles would work them like bellows, forcing extra oxygen into the bloodstream to power the lifting of the great weight. That meant high fuel consumption too, he remembered. No wonder Erannath traveled alone, if he had no vehicle. This land couldn’t support two of him inside a practical radius of operations.
“He’s gorgeous,” Fraina whispered to Ivar. “What did you call him?”
“Ythrian,” the Firstling replied. “You mean you don’t know?”
“I guess I have heard, vaguely, but I’m an ignorant wanderfoot, Rolf. Will you tell me later?”
Ha! Won’t I?
Mikkal settled himself back in the shade where he had been. “Might I ask what brings you, stranger?”
“Circumstances,” Erannath replied. His race tended to be curt. A large part of their own communication lay in nuances indicated by the play of marvelously controllable quills.
Mikkal laughed. “In other words, yes, I might ask, but no, I might not get an answer. Wouldn’t you like to palaver a while anyhow? Yo, Fraina, Rolf, join the party.”