West of January by Dave Duncan Page A

had not noticed, sir.”
    “Think back to when you were a herder. Remember your shadow?”
    I paid little attention as Violet went patiently on, trying to persuade his host that the sun did move, although so slowly that a man would not notice. Woollies did not like to be too far from the sun, he said—they became sluggish. But they could not live too close to it, either, for the heat dried up all the grass and also the water holes that the herders needed. So the herdfolk always lived about the same distance from the sun, moving slowly westward as it advanced…in a crescent shape…
    Agomish insisted that he had been a herdmaster long enough to sire twenty-eight live daughters and he had not moved westward more than in any other direction. Always he had gone to the best water and the best grazing.
    As the conversation dragged on, as my appetite died of its own success, I began to gain an inkling of Violet’s repeated insistence that herd-folk were stupid. It was obvious to me, but not to the mighty thunder-voiced Agomish. I felt rather smug once I understood that, but of course, I had heard this explanation before and had had much time to think about it. And I had enjoyed an angel’s-eye overview on a long journey through a grossly over-grazed, overstocked countryside.
    Then I realized that the other two had finished eating. I quickly dropped the dasher bone I was gnawing. I licked my fingers.
    “You will need rest, sir.” The doubts had crept back into our host’s voice. “I shall be honored if you will accept the use of one of my tents and a companion to ease your cares. And your…boy?”
    He wanted to know how many tents, how many women…and suddenly I wanted to know, also. What did Violet have planned now? A mingled rush of renewed nervousness and incredulous hope began to interfere with my hardworking digestion. My groin tingled strangely. He couldn’t expect…
    Could he?
    “I shall be most honored to accept your kind offer, Herdmaster. The lad can curl up in a corner of the tent. He will not interfere with my rest, I can assure you.”
    “I do have an ample supply of females now,” Agomish muttered, torn between greed and pride. “I have been extending my herds, also, as you may have guessed.”
    “One will be more than generous. He is only a child, as you can see.”
    I was greatly relieved. And yet, for just a moment, I had almost hoped…
    I stood behind my angel as the herdman showed off his women—eight of them, with a cluster of five old wives in the background in case the guest wished to choose experience over agility. I could not help sneaking glances, for I was safely behind Agomish also. Three were obviously pregnant and hence out of bounds.
    “…and this is Ullinila,” he boomed. “Not quite the youngest, yet unusually sprightly. The old wives are not certain, but it is possible that she is with child—but do not let that possibility worry you if she pleases you…”
    The catalog continued, but even I had caught the extra enthusiasm over Ullinila. Agomish believed that she had already conceived, and therefore he would prefer that she be chosen.
    She was. I followed Violet as he followed Ullinila to her tent. I was not looking forward to the experience, and yet I was naturally curious to see how this intriguing activity was performed. Would the angel actually couple with her in my presence?
    I waited outside briefly as the old wives bustled in with a second set of bedding. Then they departed. I entered. I made sure the flap was securely closed. I turned around.
    The second pallet had not been placed in a corner. It lay next to the other in the center of the stuffy dimness. Ullinila was little older than me or perhaps even younger, for women blossom sooner than men. She was wearing nothing but a sheen of multicolored light, and she sat with outstretched legs, leaning back on straight arms, smiling nervously up at Violet as he lowered himself to his knees beside her. My throat tightened at