Free Climate of Change by Piers Anthony Page B

that there could be no misunderstanding of their innocent purpose. They carried no weapons.
    The Other camp was a crude collection of lean-tos and smoldering fires. They walked right up to it without attracting much attention. But they knew the Others were aware of them.
    The Others were not tall, but were extremely solid. Their foreheads sloped back from massive brow ridges, and their noses were amazingly broad. Their breath steamed out in the manner of large animals. Their hands looked strong enough to crush rocks. They were indeed brutish in appearance, and Haven was frightened.
    The two of them approached an Other man who squatted by his fire, roasting meat. But he bared his huge teeth and growled. Clear enough. They retreated.
    They approached another man, but he too growled. He had a pile of stone tools he must have chipped recently. He picked one up, and the women quickly backed away. It was as if they were being taken for bothersome neighboring children, tolerated but not catered to.
    Then Haven saw an Other woman, at a fire with a child who would have been about ten had he been human. He was probably younger; Haven understood that the Others grew faster. “If they take us for children, maybe a child will help,” she murmured, and approached.
    This time Crenelle held back, not wanting to complicate the effort. “Grunge will trust two of us half as much as one,” she said.
    Grunge? Well, it was a descriptive, if unkind name. Haven continued her motion, keeping it slow.
    The woman stared at her without speaking, but did not make a threatening gesture. Haven smiled at her, hoping the expression meant the same in Other culture as in human culture. Then she oriented on the little boy. She brought out a wood link and held it out toward the boy. “Toy,” she said. “For you.” She shook the carving, so that the links shifted.
    The boy was interested, but hesitant. He looked at the woman, but she gave no sign. Haven held it closer. Suddenly he snatched it away from her, so quickly she didn’t see his arm move. He held it up, peering at the links, trying to figure it out. It was clear that he knew it was from a single piece of wood, but couldn’t figure out how it got that way.
    Haven waited, studying him. She saw that though the child was husky in the Other way, his cloak did not fit well. It was big enough, with holes cut for the arms and neck, but hung in such a way that it was drafty, letting air in through the holes. It would not be good protection in a wind. The boy surely got cold at night.
    This was something she could do something about. “Let me help,” she said, though she knew the boy would not comprehend her words. She did not look at Grunge, but was acutely aware of her.
    Haven reached back into her pack and brought out her bone awl. She moved very slowly, for alarm at this point could get her killed. She took hold of the boy’s cloak and put the awl point to it, near the edge of an armhole. He ignored her, still fascinated by the toy. The womanwatched, but made no move. She surely could and would move rapidly and effectively if she perceived a threat to her child.
    Haven applied pressure, pushing the awl point through the leather, making a small hole. Then she made another hole near it, and another, until she had worked her way entirely around the armhole.
    Now she brought out a thin thong, and threaded it through the holes, outside, inside, outside, inside. She completed the circle, then drew the thong tight and knotted it. Now the cloak was snug around the arm.
    Still no reaction from the woman. So Haven did the other armhole, and then the neck-hole, getting them all firm, but not tight, around their extremities. “Now show your mother,” she said to the boy, giving him a gentle shove in that direction.
    Obediently, he walked across to Grunge. She inspected the cloak. Would she realize the significance of the change in it?
    The woman uttered a guttural