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Up to her hips in odd shoes, discarded pots, leftover food,
and other "treasures" on the far side of the mound, Perian
was gazing intently at an old axe she'd found.
"Finding anything interesting?" Flint called.
Perian looked up guiltily and, without really thinking,
slid the axe into her belt loop, the haft hidden within the
folds of her tunic. "What was that? I'm sorry, I wasn't listen-
ing."
Flint shook his gray head, climbed off the mound, came
around to her side, and stood with his arms crossed deject-
edly. "Where are we going to find enough weapons? Are we
going to send the Aghar off to war with sharpened dinner
forks?" he spat.
Perian slid down the heap to clap him on the shoulder en-
couragingly. "Don't worry, Nomscul says there are lots
more garbage heaps where we may find useful items. Be-
sides, the Agharpults don't really need weapons."
Flint snorted in derision. "Great, then we only need two-
hundred Agharpults." He picked up a brown wooden but-
ton, the size of his palm, and shuffled it between his hands
idly. "We don't stand much of a chance armed against the
derro, let alone weaponless
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