Sneaking through the forest, Yer came into sight of K'yish's shelter and
huddled close to the ground, pulling the poncho down over his legs
self-consciously.  Even after the talk, the First had refused to give him
more than the soft garment to cover himself.  "A last lesson before you
leave Ysh."

Right.  The Elder just wanted to make sure he stayed out of mischief until
it was time for his Paking Off.  He could have at least have given him a
ride home.  He rubbed his sore feet.  It had taken longer than usual to
reach this part of the forest what with the lack of protective foot
coverings.  And his desire not to be seen.  He had to give the First his
grudging respect.  This was as good as a prank than any he had given.

At last Yer spotted K'yish curled up against the soft warmth of his R'ket's
belly.  Thank K'yavanti!  He had no wish to explain to his Mieket just what
had happened to his clothes.  Assuming that Mieket would even ask.  Yer
sighed and wondered which he really dreaded---  that Mieket would ask or
that he would not even notice.

He went down to the shelter and carefully snuggled up against the two.  He
could have opted to sleep elsewhere--- it would not have been unusual--- but
somehow it did not feel right tonight.  Maybe it was because he now knew
that he would soon be apart from the Elder for good.  R'ket, of course,
awoke at once, but Yer made the sha gesture and the animal laid its head
back down.  If there was any that hurt more than Yer over his Mieket's
mental wound, it had to be R'ket.  Yet R'ket was always unfailingly loyal.
Yer wished he could have had such a strong nature.  Things might have turned
out better.  He put his nose against K'yish's neck and breathed in.  A frown
creased his forehead and he sniffed again.  Something was not right.
Something a bit unpleasant.  Ah, well . . .  perhaps Mieket had been eating
bad food.  He didn't always pay attention to the quality of plant that he
stuck in his mouth.  Tommorrow he would make sure he ate better.  It wasn't
like he could go anywhere else enkatig anyway.

K'yish awoke to the feel of warm breath playing against his neck.  Languidly
opening his eyes, he noticed that Yer was wrapped around him, mouth fastened
to his scarf, half sucking the multi-colored cloth.  He also noted that his
kien appeared to be wrapped only in a purplish-grey designed cape that
smelled distinctly of K'yash.  It reminded the Second of  a seedling
wrapping that he had once used to cradle his newly emerged charge when the
charcoal-grey fluffball had started coming out of his pouch to explore the
K'tlyan's bespotted torso.  The defenseless etwi had blended in with his
belly just like another spot.  The wrapping was for times when he needed to
hold it separate from his body.

"So," he breathed to himself, "you have finally met your match, my kien.  I
hope he has done you a service.  He certaintly has given me a gift."  Almost
imperceptively, a smile formed on his mouth as he laid back and remembered
the first time he had held etwi-Yer up and given him name.  R'ket grunted
contentedly as it felt its Bond Mate's breathing relax back into sleep.

The sun was already up when Yer finally stirred awake.  He had had the most
unusual dream and its hold on him had prevented his getting up in time to
properly greet Enkati as was tradition.  He mumbled a quick apology to the
celestial fireball and stretched.  A hand felt soft cloth; he looked down to
see that he had been sleeping on woolen blankets.  Where had R'ket and
Mieket gone to?  Yawning, he got up and cast about with his senses.  No
recent smell of the pair; however, there was a gourd holder full of tender
water vegetables and Pina berries that had recently been picked.  For him.
With few exeptions, K'tlyan only picked food for immediate eating. The food
was for his benefit so he would not have to go foraging while in his current
'state'.   Plopping the food into his mouth, Yer glanced about at the
shelter area where he had spent so much time sleeping, but lately had not
paid much attention to.  Not even a clearing, the woven hut sat upon a space
between the trees that happened to be big enough for it.  Everything Mieket
had of his own, (which is to say, his musical instruments, and original
items that were given to him during his Farewell from Wesh Clan), that he
did not keep on his person were stored inside along with the vast majority
of necessities on loan to him from the Ysh Etwan.  The latter vastly
outnumbered the former---   which wasn't saying much as the K'tlyan had
little need of things.  A few blankets, some holding gourds and a spoon.
All were kept neatly in their designated place in the shelter.  Outside was
wilderness.

Yer spotted his cleansing stick stuck in a small paka carrying bag along
with an old yuka root.  He went over to it and sniffed the root.  Its mild
aroma wafted up as he gently scratched it with one claw.  Since there was
nothing else to do until Mieket came back from wherever he had disappeared
to, he might as well cleanse himself.  Yesterday he had been to tired to
clean himself after his little 'romp' with the First Elder's companion and
he was beginning to feel bad.  Kievet did not suffer from body odor as some
other creatures did, but washing was important to them.  Their skin produced
a  fine oil that kept their hair sleek and free from parasites as long as
the older oil residues were not allowed to accumulate.  Then, too, there
were hormones whose aromas for societal necessity had to be dulled.
Exhertion made the glands produce more hormones and the Etwan had long ago
decreed that as unacceptable.  Therefore, it had become tradition for both
sexes to 'cleanse' at least once a day since it  was not polite to be
'sweaty' amongst others.  Taking the washing items in hand, Yer headed
toward the small creek that ran closest to the shelter.  It was not as
satisfying a place as the lake since he could not dive down afterwards, but
the creek was more private and it did have a lovely voice.

Saying hello to the water, Yer removed K'yash's poncho, and knelt down in
the middle of the creek, dipping himself thoroughly in the cool water.  Only
after he was thoroughly soaked did he pick up the yuka root.  Scratching at
the thin skin of the root produced a mildly sudsy liquid that made an
excellent soap.  It was just strong enough to strip of the top layer of body
oil without damaging  the newer coating underneath.

Finished with his bath, Yer put the poncho back on and turned to head back
to the shelter.  The whispers of conversation caught his ears.  It was
coming closer.  He hid behind a tree until the voices owners came into
sight.
The Herder Triad walked to the creek and lowered  their water gourds so they
might fill with the clear liquid.  Yer crouched even lower so they would not
see him.

"Well, I think its not fair,"  the youngest complained in an aggrieved
voice. "He would have been my age.  I might have been picked for the
Ceremony."
Her sisters laughed at that.

"Since when did age matter?  You would have to by ready for the Joining---
just like any of the Chosen.  They might well have picked me."  The next
oldest sniffed.

The oldest of the three shook her head and snickered.  "You are both talking
silliness.  What does age matter?  What does speculation matter.  He is
leaving and he is not Ripe.  That is all that matters."

"All well for you!  You would not have been chosen anyway."

"And what makes you think I am past being Chosen?  I have Joined twice."

"Exactly.  They would have wanted someone fresh--- and not all used up!"

Yer watched the mock water fight for a few minutes then slunk away.  He was
almost certain they had been discussing something about himself, but what it
was exactly they were referring to he couldn't think.  'Ceremony',
'Joining', 'Ripe', 'Chosen'.  What did these things mean?  He had a vague
recollection of having heard the words before in K'yash's teaching, but he
hadn't always been exactly listening to the Elder.

K'yish was sitting against R'ket when he returned, softly blowing a tune
into his flute.  Yer blushed red but went right on up to the Elder, sitting
across from him after blowing his greeting.  He smelled his own nervous
scent gathering under the poncho.  K'yish stopped playing long enough to
look him over--- then resumed the music.

Yer was a picture of stony silence for the duration of the song, but when
the beginning of another began to be played he gave a yell of frustration.

"Mieket!  Today is my last day in Ysh.  Tommorrow I will be gone!  Yesterday
I had my coverings.  Today I am barely covered by the First Elder's poncho!
Are'na you going to say something?!"

K'yish laid down his flute  and regarded the distressed youth with calm
eyes.  "That is a good poncho.  You have been honored."

Yer felt his jaw drop.  "Honored?  He---  he saw me!"  Again he felt his
blood surface at the memory of the humiliation.  He had not been treated so
since Mesmeatas had made him wear that etwani dress before Council while
asking them if he should be declared etwani since he he thought it was
alright to go in their places.  And, just as then, the hot tears ran down
his face.

Reaching out, Mieket pulled him into a hug and gently licked his cheeks dry.

"K'yash apologized."  It was a statement.  Yer nodded.  The First Elder had
asked forgiveness for the violation.

"You are young for K'tlyan.  You are na ready."

"I am ready!"  Yer protested.

"For K'tlyan.  Na for the Fenekwi.  The Etwan had to be informed to the
difference."

Yer chewed his lower lip.  That was the second time today he had heard that
word used in reference to his Ceremony.

"Mieket, what is Fenekwi that I am deficient in it?"

The Elder was silent for so long that Yer thought he had drifted off again.
It was not uncommon.  And his breath did not smell any better either.  He
listened to his Mieket's breathing for a bit.  It was wrong:  shallow and
watery.

"Mieket?"

"Aye?"  The aged face was tense.  Yer realized that K'yish was in pain.

"Do you want me to get something?  Maybe  call the First for you?"

"Na"

"But--- "

His Mieket made the sha gesture.  "It will be gone tommorrow.  Sing a Water
Song, Little One.  I have not the air for it."

Yer complied; singing first from Water then from various other sources.
After that he told of his 'adventures'.  Not very exciting ones in
comparison to what K'yish probably new from his Journey, but his Mieket
seemed to enjoy them anyway.  Yer sensed it even though the face did not
show it.  Mieket's spirit was like a pond trapped under ice during Cold.
You could not feel it directly, but if you concentrated very hard and
listened for it . . .

The problem of the past two Turnings, Yer realized, was that he had grown
tired of having to reach for it.  Today, he would make up for that.
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

The K'tlyant came that evening.

K'yash and K'pryish dismounted and formally greeted their brother.  K'pryish
helped the tired-looking K'yish onto his R'ket and they slowly rode off
toward the village.  K'yash took a bundle from his mount's harness and
handed it to Yer.

"Here are your kien clothes.  You may put them on now."

Yer took the sack automatically, eyes on the receding riders.  The day had
passed quicker than he would have liked.  Much to quickly.  Suddenly, he had
no desire to become K'tlyan just yet.  He signaled a desire to speak.

"Mieket does na feel well.  Can the Ceremony be done tommorrow?  He said he
will feel better then."

K'yash coughed.  "Na.  Tommorrow will be too late."  He indicated the bag.
"Are you going to cover or do you want to wear just the poncho during your
Ceremony?"

"I..."

Yer went behind the nearest tree with the sack.  "Mesmeatas could wait one
more day."  he grumbled.

"That is so.  The Eldest could wait."

Yer cringed at the disapproval in K'yash's voice.  Only the Elder and her
sister Triad had permission to use the First Eldest's personal sound.  He
was letting his anger get the better of  him again.  Not the perfect way to
enter a Ceremony.  He sang peace to himself as he tugged on his clothes and
went back, but it did not help much.  His Mieket was ill and needed rest.
Why they couldn't see that!

K'yash directed him to climb up after him on his Bond Mate, an honor Yer was
too upset to fully appreciate.  Finally, as they were on their way, he made
audible his thought.

"She is so anxious to get rid of me that she does'na care what happens to
Mieket."

The growl that K'yash emitted got his attention fast.  It was deep with
warning.

"Enough!  If you are so worried about K'yish's health than why is it you did
not mention his state before!"

Yer blinked.  Before?  How could he have mentioned it before when Mieket had
just got sick?  "I don'a understand.  Mieket ate something bad when was with
you."

The First snorted.  "He said that?"

"No."  Yer admitted, beginning to feel somewhat sick himself.

"That is because he has been sick a long time.  First Eldest has not seen
him since your last. .make that your second-to-last offense."  K'yash
corrected, remembering the bread snatching incident he had witnessed
himself.  "You, however, were supposed to be learning from and sleeping with
and generally being with your Mieket.  How is it that you did not sense the
change in his Air?"  He heard sobbing behind him and relented.  After all,
as he had admitted to Mesmeatas, he had not done a sterling job either.
"Ayth.  Apologies, Young . . . Yer.  We are all still wearing the scars of
Unayarek's attack to some extent.  Actually, there was discussion of moving
up your Ceremony for your Mieket's sake.  He has been preparing to Walk even
as he has prepared for your. ."

"What?"  Yer moaned.  "Mieket is just a little--- you can heal him!"

K'yash sighed.  "Na.  I said he has been preparing to Walk.  That included
hiding the problem from me and, it seems, you."

Yer said nothing, knowing that that would not have been hard for his Mieket
to do seeing as he had pretty much ignored the Elder on his own.  The rest
of the trip was spent in sad recollections of mistakes made.

Unayavek, when I am K'tlyan I will seek you out.  I will sing to your face.

That will be interesting.  An angry K'tlyan in full throat.  I will be
waiting, little Kievet pup.

I will not be a 'pup' when I challenge you.

Silly.  You will always be a pup.  A pup in K'tlyan coverings that should
still be wearing his Fa- Etwi (small from Oneness) Wrappings.

Shut up.

Fa-Etwi.  Lying in your own filth that is what you are.  Helpless to clean
yourself.  Your Mieket's pouch decaying around you.  Come to me, Fa-Etwi.  I
will play Mieket for you.  Aaaye, I will clean you well.  My tongue will lap
up your sweetness as I suck on you until you are as dry and clean as rock.
Better yet, come after you have Joined so I may play with your Seedling at
the same time.  Come, Fa-Etwi.

Yer blinked as the taunting voice in his mind as well as the R'ket he was
sitting on suddenly stopped.  He unclenched his hands that had
unconsciousely balled into fists.  They were at the Council Lodge.  An
Attendant stood waiting at the Kievet entrance. K'yash went inside giving
Yer instructions to wait until the Attendant allowed him entrance.  The
Attendant virtually ignored him after that to which Yer was thankful.  He
was still disturbed by his 'talk' with Unayarek.  What did it mean by: come
when he had a Seedling?  If he had a Seedling he would be an Elder, a
K'tlyant.  K'tlyant no more left their adopted Clans than Journeying K'tlyan
carried kien.  What Unayarek had said made no sense.

There was the muffled sound of a drum being struck.  Yer bowed as the
Attendant suddenly took notice of him and silently gestured for him to
enter.  She followed behind him as he entered the central Council room as if
to keep him from bolting.  The room was dark save for the light firepit in
the center which cast flickering shadows on its surroundings.  His eyes
adjusted accordingly and confirmed that which his nose and already told him.
To his left sat the Eldest Triad comprised of the oldest from each sect.
Mesmeatas stood up with her staff which held the Stone of Ysh.  Story said
that K'tlysa, the falcon-shaped Spirit of Warnings had personally delivered
the staffs after K'yavanti had  thrust the Eight Stones into them.  Being
the oldest Etwan in Ysh, Mesmeatas alone had authority to touch it.  She
pointed the aged wood toward the three Elders and lightly touched K'yish
with it.  K'yash and K'pryish made to help him up, but K'yish rose smoothly
and reached for the staff with one hand.  With a firm grip he took ownership
of it.

Yer felt his eyes bug.  Not only had the transfer been allowed--- no one
seemed surprised or made protest.  Not even Mesmeatas.  Not only that--- but
what by Creation was Mieket wearing festival clothing for?  None of the
others were.  And why was there a falcon's feather stuck in his headband?
Yer mentally berated himself for not paying more attention to K'yash's
teaching.

"K'tlysa,"  Mesmeatas murmured as all present save Yer bowed their heads.
(K'yash gave him a stern look and he quickly copied their homage.)  "Welcome
back to the Clan of Ysh.  What have you to tell us this visit?"

K'yish stood straight as he answered in a clear voice.  Only the slightest
hesitancy between his words betraying that all was not well.

"Honorable Clan of Ysh, I have come to cry out the message that the One
Prepared is Ready.  The Cycle is Complete."

"And who is this One, my lord?"  Mesmeatas asked, head still bowed.  Yer
smelled satifaction coming from her.  If anyone else noticed, they chose to
hide it.  But then, Yer thought bitterly, Mesmeaatas had long disliked him.

"Yer en Kien enYsh.  He is to take the Place left empty."

"So be it as K'tlysa has voiced."  Mesmeatas beckoned for Yer.  "Come here,
Yer en Kien."

Yer warily stepped forward.  Without warning, Mesmeatas took hold of his
head--- a bit harder than necessary Yer thought---  and spoke over him.
"Ysh relinquishes its hold on this kien that he may fulfill his place as a
Singer of K'yavanti."  She let him go.  "Ysh revokes the status of Mieket
from the K'tlyant, K'yish.  His duty has been fulfilled.  His Place is
taken."

Now the K'yash and K'pryish went to his Mieket and began to remove his
headband and cloak as the Etwan silently departed.  Quietly they divested
him of all of his outer garments.  The newly christend 'K'yer' looked away
as this went on.

"K'yer?"

"Eh?"

K'yash was handing him a small bundle.

"You must take off your kienshu and put these on."  He explained when K'yer
made no move.  "The kienshu belongs to the Etwan.  You cannot take it with
you and you will need to wear these tunics under your K'tlyan coverings."

K'yer complied as quickly as he could.  If Mieket could stand still without
complaint while he was uncovered then he could at least be as stoic while
dressing himself.  But then, the K'tlyan't weren't finished.  They brought
over the clothes that K'yish had so recently filled out.  His scent was
heavy on them.  Again, K'yash was quick to explain as the new K'tlyan
hesitated.  K'yer had the feeling he was being rushed.  Very likely.  In
fact, he seemed to remember that the last K'tlyan Ceremony had been held in
the morning.  He grimaced with the realization that Mesmeatas probably did
not want to bother with his Ceremony at all so they had merely allowed him
the early 'use' of Ishti's.  If he waited by the Marker Stone at the Pass,
he likely could greet his soon-to-be-brother as he came up from the valley
as well.

Somehow, I do na feel much like honoring this Clan, he thought sarcastically
as K'yash slipped a green-stone embedded ring onto his new K'tlyan scarf.
The wooden ring symbolized the Clan Valley he had been raised in; whereas,
the striped scarf signified the Eight Clans of the Kievet who he would renew
with his voice.  He ran his hands down the opposing symols that decorated
either side of his vest opening as well as the cuffs that kept his billowy
sleeves and trouser ends back.  Actually, K'yer thoght ruefully, billowy
described the outfit more than it normally should.

K'yash caught his look as he inspected the ties to make sure all was in
place.

"Do na worry . . . you will soon grow into them.  They were the smallest
K'yash could find for you."  He whispered with a smile.

Satisfied, the First Elder 'introduced' K'yer en K'tlyan to the one he was
taking over for.  K'yer noticed that K'yish seemed to have lost his
energy--- K'pryish had helped him get covered with his regular things as
K'yash had been checking K'yer's presentableness.

"Mieket?'

K'pryish rebuked him.  "I am the only Mieket of Ysh and you are not my kien.
This  is the Second Elder of Ysh.  Address him properly."

"Greetings, Second Elder of Ysh."  K'yer stood before K'yish before melting
into a submissive curl.  Hearing the K'tlyan't turn to get his gifts, he
timed that moment to straighten again, mouthing a silent "Mieket"
practically in the Second's face.  K'yer flashed a mischieveous grin before
straightening his face for the Elders benefit.  It was a last bit of fun
shared with his teacher and K'yer sensed that K'yish had enjoyed it too.
Not since before the Disaster had they shared a joke at formality's expense.

Unaware  that protocal had been so gleefully sideswiped, K'Pryish handed him
a green-stone knife.  It was fairly plain with only the simple Male/Female
pattern that adorned the rest of his attire.  He thanked the Elders anyway.
The knife was sharp enough to serve whatever purpose it was needed for.  He
could embellish it more on his own during Cold Time if he wanted to.  K'yash
next wrapped a woven sling around him like an extra belt.  K'yer thanked
him.

"There.  Now you have the gifts of the K'tlyan't.  Waiting for you outside
are the gifts of the Etwan which are even more valuable than these.  You
must thank them."

K'yer nodded that he would.  One of their gifts would be a male R'ket that
he would bond with eventually even closer than he had bonded with Mieket as
an Etwi.  He was going to need a R'ket if he ever hoped to find Unayarek's
lair.

"Good Journey, K'yer en K'tlyan.  May you find many Songs."

"Good Journey, K'yer en K'tlyan.  May you dance like the wind."

"Good Journey, K'yer en K'tlyan.  May you fight yourself and win."

The First and Third Elders stared in dumbfoundment at the Second.  K'yish
ignored them to stare at his former kien.  Yer coughed; not at all sure what
the parting words implied--- they were not the usual Farewell saying.  He
gave K'yish an unsolicitated, but not unwanted hug before going out through
the K'tlyan entrance.

The Etwan were assembled to see him off.  He concentrated on the
brindled-grey R'ket standing pacifly next to him.  It was young and gave him
a confident look--- not even Mesmeatas would dare send out a K'tlyan without
a capable R'ket--- to do so would be an affront to Creative. Traditions she
would bend for her purposes, but not that.

His Companion.

K'yer blew into its muzzle before looking deep into its brown eyes.  Its
warm breath displacing the furred ends of his chest collar.  He whispered
fondly to it, already feeling a kinship with the large goatalope.

"I am K'yer of the Singers of K'yavanti, Great Mountain Spirit.  Long have
our kind bonded together for the mutual purpose of the Song.  Will you be my
companion wherever I search; protecting me while I strive to protect the
Creative in Ava?"

It licked his face in agreement so he grabbed a section of harness and
hauled himself up over the stuffed paks that graced each side and back of
the animal.  The side bags had been positioned just the right heighth for
his bent legs to rest upon.  K'yer felt the goatalope rise and fall under
him as it took great breaths.  It was excited and its emotion transferred
over to him:  He was K'tlyan with a fiercely loyal R'ket.  Destruction
didn't stand a chance!
He grinned cockily down at the Eldests.

"Thank You for your generosity, Etwan of Ysh.  I will respect the things
given and remember this Valley that nurtured me."

The People of Ysh responded with the Farewell Song:  Etwan speaking the
words while the K'tlyan't sang the melody.  K'yer looked back and saw
K'Pryish and K'yash supporting K'yish as they sang.  Unnoticed by them, the
Second Elder's face slowly formed into a satisfied smile.  K'yer saluted him
with his flute, then urged R'ket into a slow trot.  The People parted as he
rode up the path that led to the Pass and out of Ysh Valley.
-------------------------------------------------------------------

K'yer gazed down from his vantage point at the top of the Pass and sighed.
The night darkness had thwarted what was likely to be his last look on the
Valley he had lived his entire life in.  Soon the sun would change the muted
greys to vivid greens, yellows, reds, and blues, but by that time he would
be gone.  This was still considered part of Ysh all the way up to the marker
stone that loomed a few yards behind him.  No doubt the Herder Triad on
guard was watching him right now and preparing to challenge him with their
spears if he did not leave within the next couple of minutes.  He did not
care to risk a confrontation.  Disappointed, he urged R'ket around toward
the boundary.  The marker stone, a seven-foot high natural pillar, had long
ages ago been adorned with several green stones about five feet from the
base.  Reaching out he placed his palm on one of the largest ones and
mentally called its name.  It radiated comfort.  No matter his relationship
with its People, K'yer had always had a deep respect for the Valley itself.
He stroked the smooth stone then did the same to the much smaller one that
made up his scarf ring.

What is this?  His eyes noticed a dark hump leaning against one side of  the
pillar base.  It smelled of wool and pakha--- and a K'tlyan't.  Why would
K'yash leave a paka bag here at the Boundary?  He dismounted for a closer
look.  The weak light revealed the cloth to be covered in the K'tlyan
pattern.  Hefting it up showed it to hold something approximately an arm's
length and several hand's breadth in diameter at one end.  It felt hard, but
lightweight.  A last gift?  But for him or for Ishti?  He opened the tied
end and got a whiff of K'yish's scent.

For him, he decided and  reached in to pull the item out.  It looked like
just an elongated gourd at first.  Puzzled, he turned it around and gave a
little gasp of recognition. It was the helper of his dreaming!  He had
forgotten all about the sleep vision--- it had come to him just before the
Disaster and he had been consumed with other thoughts othan the dream. after
that event.  He had not thought that Mieket would have remembered either;
considering.  That his guardian had not only remembered but made the vision
into the reality--- all in secret--- despite his aloofness...

K'yer flung back his head and howled out his misery to the heavens.  He was
an idiot!  A selfish, stupid, blind, deaf, Yampa of an idiot!  K'yish had
never forgotten him!  Even when he couldn't physically express it--- his
Mieket had still been caring for his ungrateful kien.  And now it was too
late!  Too late to go back and tell him how sorry he was for being such a
v'rek whelp!

Bleary eyed, K'yer wiped the tears from his face and studied the instrument
more closely.  As he had feared, the gourd had been painstakingly crafted
with detailed carvings and colorful stains.  He experimentally plucked one
string---  a soulful twang sounded.  He cried again.  Mieket had not only
made the instrument from just the one telling, he had put a great deal of
time and energy into the task as well.  K'yer had never felt so rotten.

The R'ket moaned with him, at a loss as to why its Bond mate was in such
distress.  It tried to lick his face, but K'yer would not have it.  He
slipped the instrument back into its protective bag and pondered what to do.
Keeping it was out of the question.  He simply didn't deserve such an item.
Leaving it for the K'tlyan't to find would hurt K'yish.  He considered
leaving it out further down the Pass for another Singer to find, but
somehow, that felt wrong too.  At last he decided to bury it out of sight of
passerbys.  Why he came to this decision, he couldn't say; he had already
decided on his course and knew it was unlikely he would ever to return to
Ysh.  However, the decision felt 'right', so he hid it well before
remounting his Companion.

"I wish to go to the Black Guardians, R'ket.  They are supposed to be
located where Enkati rises up.  Will you take me there?"

The goatalope tossed its head, thrashing the air with its black saber-like
horns.  With a bellow of happiness, it went into a trot; a grim-faced K'yer
holding firmly to its mane hairs.

"Here I come, Unayarek."
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