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. With a heave, he lifted it, and several rats
scurried away. The Lady Drule made a dive for one, missed
it. Her hand closed around a stick. A second rodent raced
by. Drule swatted it on the head.
She picked it up, looked at it, then looked at the stick in
her hand. It was a sturdy hardwood branch an inch thick and
about two feet long. "Pretty good bashin' tool," she decided.
"Bashin' tool," Krog rumbled.
By the time they got back to the others, Drule had three
rodents for the pot and Krog was busy fashioning a bashing
tool of his own. He had found a section of broken tree trunk
about five feet long, and was shaping it to his satisfaction
by beating it against rocks as they passed. It was a noisy
process, but the implement pleased him. It felt right and
natural in his hand. He held the forty-pound club in front of
him, studied it with satisfied eyes, tossed it in the air, caught
it, and studied it again. "Pretty good bashin' tool," he said.
By the time the stew was ready, daylight was gone.
"Better stay here for sleep," the Lady Drule told the others.
"Go on tomorrow."
"Go where,S Mama?" Krog wondered.
"Find others."
"These others?" He indicated the crowd around the fire.
"No," she said. "Other others."
"Fine," the Grand Notioner said, picking out a stew
bowl. He dipped it and sat down to eat as others made their
way to the pot. There weren't enough iron bowls to go
around - much had been lost when the cavern of This Place
had collapsed - but they made do with vessels of tree bark,
cupped shards of stone, and a leather boot that someone had
found and cut down
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