Every four years, under the green branches of the forest of Vaw, a miraculous hatching occurs. Shortly before the first leaves begin to discolor, the fragrant humus becomes agitated and deformed and, by millions, the lurs emerge from their long underground hibernation. During two moons, they gorge themselves with vegetation on the surface, then mate, and disappear as quickly as they arrived. The inhabitants of the forest lend as many virtues as vices to these small terrestrial cephalopods. While a slick of lurs can devastate a field of crops in less than one night, the families they have saved from starvation in years of famine are no longer counted. In Woody, it's said that dried lur powder gives long life to those who consume it on a daily basis, in Whitewood it's said that it would make a man hard as a bull. Along the river Gor, the lurs are bottled in a homemade bark wine called "bustling", while in the foothills of the Thorns, they are smoked in anticipation of bad weather. There's also more than one local legend that associates them with this rich forest sphagnum moss characteristic of the woods of Vaw and Cover-Pass, which is both a blessing for the cattle and a curse for the peasant.

In any case, when the season of the lurs begins, the life of the Vawans suddenly gets animated. The roads are crowded with gatherers, merchants and vagabonds, each more unlikely than the others. For a few weeks, even in the tiniest parcels, parties and songs alternate, as well as pick-up and gobbling contests, and a myriad of other entertainments mixed with the shows and music of the travelling acrobats. It's a period of festive excess whose reputation extends far beyond the borders of Vaw, which attracts as many troubadours as seasonal workers - as well as a contingent of crooks and pickpockets of all kinds. All in all, for us the lurs were just in time. The binge drinking and the influx of foreigners were such that we would probably never have a better opportunity to go unnoticed.

We left the plateau the day after our hunt, in a hurry to return to the world of men. Ulrick rode Berda, I rode Pike, and we had loaded the horses with several dozen skins to trade. The elaborate saddle of the Val had been coarsely covered with fur to make it easier for us to trade and he had left his stirrups at the hut to avoid attracting suspicion. Of course, it wouldn't escape an informed glance that Berda was a rigan charger, a war mare and not some kind of work horse, but we had concocted a few plausible stories for those who would insist too much, hoping that with as little insistence as possible we would come across as few as possible.

Ulrick had taken his bow, which would not raise any eyebrows as long as it remained in its case, and his sword, which we had buried under the load of furs and food that Berda was carrying. The vaïdogan had entrusted me with the carmian steel dagger to hide it under my cloak, and apart from the gambeson that Ulrick carried under his skins, we had hidden the rest of his weapons - as well as our two armors - in a dry and sheltered place, at the bottom of one of the deep crevices that scarred the gully. This way we were traveling light, and if someone decided to loot the cabin while we were away, which was still unlikely, there would be nothing to steal except a bit of dry sausage. As far as I was concerned, dozens of looters could come and take as much dry sausage as they could carry, with my blessing as a bonus.

The sun was not yet fully up and the sky was covered. The grey clouds, uncertain and tumultuous, were rushing eastward under the influence of a wet breeze. I was smiling inwardly despite the capricious weather, still dazed by sleep, but resolutely delighted to set off on an adventure. Ulrick had taken the lead. He motioned for me to stay behind him as we reached the rocky edge that cut across the southern edge of the woods plateau below. We descended carefully, at an angle to soften the slope, meandering between the mossy rocks and scattered trees, while keeping the tinkling of the waterfalls in our backs. The huge hooves of Pike and Berda carved sockets in the wet earth of the slope, marking their passage like gigantic buffers. We let them take their time to avoid falling. I sometimes felt like a hawk perched above the void, and I tensed up on the saddle while the heavy legs of the gelding took on the roughness of the descent. In spite of my efforts to stay in place, the jerky movement of the big packhorse made me sway on all sides, like a vermin in the mouth of a ratter.

"More loose!" Ulrick shouted at me twice. "Don't be tensed!" but I couldn't relax enough and was not really reassured until we finally reached the gentler slope, where the stream started again, and the forest started for good.

We swerved westward to avoid the quagmires that bordered the rivulet and the plants of white root which grew there in significant quantity. The two horses had already ventured into this area in the spring, and Ulrick had to chase them away several times, with a lot of shouting and caning. Despite their bitter and brackish aftertaste, white roots were the only vegetables we could rely on year-round, and we weren't going to remind the horses how much they enjoyed the tender shoots - or risk getting stuck in the mud.

Ulrick called for a halt around noon, so that I could nibble some dried meat without the risk of regurgitating it immediately under the effect of the roll, but especially to give the animals time to graze properly. I stretched myself painfully while the Val was running water over his face, leaning over the stony stream that we had finally reached. My legs had certainly grown since I had known Ulrick, but not enough to travel comfortably on Pike's broad back. Each bump made me feel as if I was slowly being torn apart on a monstrous pillory of flesh. However, I was not forgetting our last trip, the one that had taken us to the top, and despite the tugging jolts, at least this time I was not walking. After a few hours, we made the horses drink, and set off again at the same swaying pace.

The sky was gradually getting clearer, which augured good weather for the next few days. We followed our stream, which flowed straight south through the trees, babbling happily, alternating wet pebble beaches and small foaming waterfalls. Ulrick would sometimes interrupt the whispering voice of Vaw to show me with a smile the white tail of a doe that was running away, or the shit of a bear, or an unlucky tree whose ragged branches were teeming with lurs. The afternoon went on and, when the light began to fade, we set up camp in a hurry, without making a fire so as not to attract attention. I was worried about the bear shit, but Ulrick patiently explained that unless we were very unlucky, with so many lurs out there, the bears had better things to do than to bother the travelers. Once my worries were allayed, I found - with unexpected pleasure - the sensation of having only the sky as a roof and, wrapped in my wool blanket, I fell asleep under the stars, my eyes trapped in the dust of the constellations.

On the second day, the slope became less steep and the conifers less numerous. The sun had gone out for good, and its golden light filtered through the leaves to make the shadows dance on the humus carpet. The stream had been enlarged by several small tributaries, so that at the deepest point it was now halfway up my thigh, and we could see whole schools of trout scattered in our path. The squealing of the lurs was everywhere, a soft, rustling sound, like light rain. Dark bunches hung from the trees and the clearings undulated under the effect of the living carpets looking for food. Every once in a while, Ulrick would pick one from the pile and turned to me to swallow it whole, each with more exaggerated expressions of delight. In spite of his insistence, I had refused to taste it raw, without dismissing the idea of seasoned skewers, of which he had assured me that there were plenty at every village feast.

A few hours after our lunch break, the Val pulled on the bridle of Berda, while pointing to a darker spot in the woods in front of us.

"Here's your chance to prove yourself as a better comedian than archer," he grinned. There was a small flat shape between the trees, a few hundred spans in front of us, and I could easily identify the siding of a roof.

"The road must be not far," said the Val. "Remind me what we're called, already." "Jaramy and Miclo", I replied pouting, "We're coming from Woody's Tower, but in reality we're from nowhere. Just a walking trapper and his son." Ulrick coughed, with a mischievous eye. "His bastard son," he corrected. I frowned. "Do we really have to say that part? Because in reality... " The Val cut me off in a dry voice. "Yes, we have to. We've already talked about it. Actually, you don't look anything like me, Sletling. If our history is shameful enough, people will stop at shame, and they won't go any further. Now stop with the long face and go ahead!"

I pressed my heels against Pike's flank grumbling and we slowly advanced towards the distant building. As my buttocks and thighs were in agony, I was happy to be able to set the pace, even over such a short distance. In spite of his placid and friendly nature, Pike was not really an ideal mount and, except for the first few days after my escape from Brown-Horn, I had never been in the saddle for so long. We soon emerged from the forest to a small and bright clearing. I blinked my eyes for a few moments to get used to the sun. In front of us laid a few narrow parcels of yellowing tubers, and further on, a house, a barn, and a pig pen.

As we approached, a little girl stood up among the crops by making big eyes, then she turned her heels and ran home screaming. In the shadow of the porch, two large black dogs raised their ears before starting a furious barking concert. A little displeased by the welcome, I nevertheless pushed Pike so that he would go around the fields towards the farm, without taking my eyes off the buildings. A slender silhouette appeared on the ridge of the farm. Just before we entered the yard, I was relieved to see that the two screaming mutts were tied up, and I heard Ulrick's low voice behind me.

"Let me do the talking, now that they've seen you."

I nodded silently, not really reassured. A small middle-aged woman, looking like a mouse, emerged through the door of the house to come and camp between the dogs, her hands flat on her hips. She immediately reminded me of a younger widow Ronna. Over her shoulder, a pale teenage girl looked at us suspiciously and the wide-eyed girl clung to her skirts. From the roof, the silhouette that I had spotted earlier, a young leggy man, glanced at us cautiously, nervously fiddling with the handle of his scouring hoe.

"That's close enough," the woman said, as we got within ten spans from the porch. "Shut up!" she shouted, brandishing her stick in the direction of the two dogs. They squealed and lied down.

Ulrick moved Berda forward to stand beside Pike, then he handed me the reins and put his foot on the ground. "Good day to you," he said politely to the lady of the house. "My name is Jaramy Brush, and this is my natural son, Miclo." I bit my lips, my eyes black, to keep my silence. "We drove all the way from Cover-Pass to sell our hides to Long-Vein. Miclo and I were wondering if you would be so kind as to offer us accomodation for the night. In exchange for which we would make ourselves useful, of course."

The woman wrinkled her forehead and ran her hand over the scarf that held her chestnut hair. "This is the farm of Guson, and I'm mistresse Guson," she said with a pinched look. "If you go to Long-Vein, you may come across my husband and my elder sons. They are working there as seasonal workers." She paused before resuming with her strong vawan accent. I don't like to open our door to two strangers until my husband is home sir Brush. With all due respect, you don't look very friendly, and not all travelers are honest in this season. I'd rather you just go on your way." Mistresse Guson crossed her arms on her stained apron. I glanced obliquely at the spiky dogs. My reunion with humanity wasn't going as well as I had hoped: we were being chased away like two beggars.

Ulrick, who seemed to be used to this kind of situation, smoothed his bushy beard without letting himself be dismayed by a first refusal. "It's just that," he said, "we were only asking for the use of your barn for the night, and nothing more. You won't even notice we're here," he negotiated in a conciliatory voice that I didn't suspect he was capable of. "Maybe I could finish scrubbing your roofs, I know it's hard work, with the moss clinging to it," he added with a compassionate smile to the young man perched on the siding. "We've been on the road for almost a week." A glimmer of hesitation passed through the woman's eyes and the Val jumped at the opportunity to point at me. "I know that sleep is rare during the season of lurs. My boy isn't the smartest child, but he could watch over your fields tonight." I turned scarlet red as I strangled Ulrick inside my head. The woman shook her head. "I don't know..." she said in a tone that had softened. Ulrick insisted. "I'd even have a penny for you, or a nice skin, if you had some fodder for our animals." Mistresse Guson let her arms fall down along her rough dress.

"Okay," she ended up saying. "It's okay. But if there's any trouble, I'll have my dogs up your ass," she turned around and looked up at the roof. "Come down from there, kid!" she shouted. "Go open the barn for sir Brush and his child."

We unloaded the horses in a tiny stable, which we shared with two piles of straw, under the eye of the young weakling, whose name was Clemon. He informed us that the ox that usually occupied it had gone with his father and his brothers, who intended to sell it at the lurs market in Long-Vein. As he had promised, Ulrick devoted his afternoon to scrubbing the roofs, and I noticed that when she passed through the courtyard, mistresse Guson sometimes glanced at the shiny tangle of his sweaty muscles for a while. I was bored to death all that time, having nothing else to do after tending the horses, and spent what was left of the day hanging around the stream that flowed behind the farm. The eldest daughter came to wash some clothes, but remained as quiet as the grave despite my hesitant attempts to start the discussion. The evening came too quickly for my taste and, after a bowl of peppery soup graciously offered by the lady of the house, I went to stand in the middle of the fields, while scanning the falling night for hungry wandering lurs.

From time to time I would hear a loud laugh from the lighted house that betrayed Ulrick's presence in the kitchen. Apparently he had succeeded in defusing the initial mistrust and was now enjoying the fire and much friendlier company than my tuber plants. After I had spent a few hours alone, ruminating bitterly in the dark, the Val came to join me, his breath laden with alcohol. He gave me a hot herbal tea that I drank slowly, sulking copiously. "I would have preferred to sleep under the stars," I mumbled miserably after finishing the drink.

"We didn't even have to stop here. We could be on the road with the minstrels." Ulrick cleared his throat. "With the cutthroats too," he said. "You can ride with me tomorrow, and rest on the way. Believe me, we're better here than on the road." I sniffed dismissively. "You're better off here. I'm waiting in a field while you drink." Ulrick frowned:

"Consider this a warm-up. There's no stakes and you can make a mistake without it being very serious. Learn how to play your role."

"But I'm bored!"

"We're not here to have fun, Sletling. You weren't doing anything this afternoon while I was working under the sun. It's my turn now."

"I didn't even have any booze with all this!"

"You'll get some tomorrow. Stop whining and watch the damn field. I'm going to sleep."

I shrugged my shoulders and stopped complaining, because Ulrick's arguments turned my complaints into the whims of a child. The Val turned his back on me and walked away towards the barn. All in all, I crushed two lurs during the night, which was a meager consolation. When Clemon came to replace me in the early morning, I dragged myself to the barn, so tired that I was not sure if I wasn't already asleep. Pike greeted me with a satisfied breath, his belly bouncing and his mouth full of hay.

While I was looking for my blanket, dazed by exhaustion, I managed to trip over the apron of the mistresse Guson which was lying somewhere in the straw, before falling down all the way on Ulrick's legs. The Val woke up with a dull grunt. I threw the apron to his face angrily. "What?" he said, before going back to sleep. "Hospitality isn't something you can refuse."