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Updated: June 18, 2025
By nightfall it was completed, and by the fitful firelight Tenas painted and stained its huddled figures in the black, orange, crimson and green that tribal custom made law.
Maarda had finished her story, but the recollections had saddened her eyes, and for a time we both sat on the deck in the violet twilight without exchanging a word. "Then the little Tenas Klootchman is yours now?" I asked. A sudden radiance suffused her face, all trace of melancholy vanished. She fairly scintillated happiness. "Mine!" she said. "All mine!
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