Several of the nearer humans twisted around to stare at them. The one called Crandall let out a loud whooping sound and began to laugh.

“No,” said Amber, plainly startled.

“Just your breeches then, at least.” He unfastened his own harness and shrugged out of his tunic.

“The hell I will!”

“Please yourself,” said Meoraq with a shrug of his spines. He took Amber’s shoulder and shoved her firmly to the ground, then picked up one of the saoq hides and dropped it in her lap.

She let out a startled cry, trying unsuccessfully to scoot out from under it.

“Be quiet and learn something.” He removed his breeches and sat down facing her wearing nothing but his loin-plate, which, being metal, was easily washed. He handed her one of the scrapers from his pack, pulled the second hide over his folded legs, and went to work. “You will find it tempting to stroke along the grain, but it is far more effective to cut against it,” he told her. “Start at the neck, like this, and work your way down. Let the weight of the unfinished hide pull against your grip and keep it as taut as possible. If we had trees, I would show you how to build a frame, but that will have to wait for a future lesson. How do you mark me?”

“I’m covered in blood! Damn it, lizardman, I’ll never wash this shit out!”

“I told you to take your clothes off.”

She scowled at him, then picked up her scraper and hunted out the neck of the saoq’s hide. Her first clumsy pass only smeared the bloody fat across the membrane, but before he could correct her, she leaned over to see what he was doing and copied it with a fair amount of success. As he’d hoped, having something to do had brought her back to life. Having something to prove would liven her even more.

“Just throw it in the fire,” he said when she had her first handful of scrapings. “Try not to get blood on the cleaned area.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

He showed her his work. “This is what it should look like.”

“How the hell are you…? Okay.” She bent, yanking at the hide to try and keep it taut, and scraped harder. “Like this?”

“Keep your wrist straight and the pressure of your hand even as you stroke. Go slowly until you know how the tool wants to move in your grip.”

“That sounds so dirty and you don’t even realize it. You’ve done the whole neck already,” she said, eyeing it with hot disbelief. “How are you doing that so fast?”

“Practice. This is not a contest. Mind your own work.” He took a moment to roll some of his excess cleaned hide, noting as he did so that the other humans were still watching them. No one looked particularly interested in the work itself. They appeared to just be watching him and Amber…and some of them were smiling.

“You understand these people,” he said crossly. “What are they staring at?”

“The guy who told me to take my clothes off.”

“What does that have to do with—” He broke off and looked her, then at himself in his loin-plate only, and then at her again. Bizarrely, the first words that came from his throat were no heated denial, but merely, “What, here in front of them?”

She rolled one shoulder. “Dinner and a show.”

“Is that what you thought?”

“No.” Firelight could be deceptive, but her face seemed pinker than it was. “I don’t know…No!”

Meoraq’s spines twitched. “How can you not know what you were thinking?”

“The same way you can not know what it looks like when you start stripping and tell a girl to take her clothes off,” she replied. “Nice panties, by the way.”

It was a joke, although its meaning eluded him. “And when I began to cook the brains?” he inquired, pointing back at the satchel with his scraper.

“Soup.”

“You thought I meant to feed you brains?”

“How is that more disgusting than what you always feed me?”

“Example!” he demanded, laughing through his incredulity.

“How about all the heads?” she shot back, pointing at the two in the fire.

“The head is the best part,” he replied. “I save it for myself and allow you to share it.”

“Okay, marrow. Marrow is horrible.”

“The food of lords and abbots,” he countered. “Delicious.”

“Liver.”

“Ah, well. Liver is good for you.”

She finally gave him a smile, even if it was a pale effort. “So yeah, brain soup. Mmm-mmm, good.”

He gave her a teasing hiss and went back to work on his hide. “The Book of Oyan forbids men to eat either brain or bowel, so you need never fear that particular dish be set before you. Besides which, I’ve put lhichu in that, which is probably poisonous.”

“Put what in it?”

“Lhichu root. To preserve the hide and soften it some. These will never be quality leathers, of course, but they would be utterly unworkable without lhichu.”

“Yours will be okay,” she told him, tossing another handful of scrapings on the fire and taking a moment to change out the stone in the simmering brains for a hotter one.

“You don’t mark me. I mean that we are merely curing these, not tanning them.”

“Why not?” she asked and immediately rolled her eyes and answered, “Takes too long.”

“I would not begrudge the time if you learned something from it, certainly not something as useful as tanning, but we don’t have a fleshing pit. A brain-cure and smoke will be sufficient for our needs until Sheul provides the means for better.”

“I didn’t catch that one word. We don’t have a what?”

“A fleshing pit. A lined hole or even just a basin where we would soak the raw hides in rending matter so that they could be more easily defleshed. If we tried to take the scales off without one, we would tear the hide to pieces.”

“Oh, I get it.” She started to scrape again, then paused and looked sharply up. “Wait, soak them in what?”

“Rending matter,” he repeated patiently. “Stale urine, mostly. And various other ingredients to bate and soften skins. The hides would soak several days, depending on whether the beast has scales or hair—”

And then he realized why she’d stopped him. ‘Rending matter,’ he’d said, using the single dumaqi word which loosely summed up all the unpleasant materials used in the process, and that word, of course, was s’kot.

He glanced around at the other humans, but watching hides being cleaned was tedious work and they had returned to their own side of camp to watch the saoqs cook. Scott was there, too far away to hear his name in Meoraq’s mouth and learn its meaning (the low part of him that heard Gann’s whispers felt a short pang of disappointment), but Amber heard, Amber understood. He raised his eyes to her, braced for the eruption.

She was smiling. “You know, I always wondered why you said it like that, with that little hitch in the skuh-part.”

“It seemed fitting.”

“Extremely. What does human mean?”

“Eh?”

“Don’t play dumb. Human. You say it weird. Like yooo-mont. What is it?”

“It refers to a kind of beetle.”

“A good kind?”

“Not…particularly.” And because he knew the question was inevitable, he added, “This is n’ki,” as he drew a careless loop in the air with his scraper. “The form of it, you mark? The…eh…the roundness.”

Her brows creased. “I don’t get it. Nicci’s not fat.”

“I didn’t need a word with true meaning. I just needed a word.”

She watched him work. Her brows stayed wrinkled. “Why?”

“It is one of the laws of Sheul. The Prophet’s Word is the only Word and your name cannot be spoken in dumaqi.”

“Seriously? It’s a sin to speak another language?”

“Not one of the unforgiveable sins,” he admitted. “But even the smallest flecks of shit will eventually flavor the stew.”

“Gross, Meoraq.”

“Mud, then. My point is, even the smallest sins can weigh heavy with repetition.” He hesitated, his hands slowing, and said, “Did you never wonder why I have never called you by your name?”

“Well…yeah.” She rolled her shoulders, keeping her attention on her hide. “I figured it was just your way of telling me to keep my distance. Like when Scott calls me Miss Bierce and I call him Everly, you know?”