Aolo’s mind was racing. The main spearman was old and fat and slow, but the others… and he was afraid of the man with the bulging arms. He seemed to be close to the Head and had quick, bright eyes, but walked almost sluggishly. Aolo knew such men – they were dangerous as opponents.<br/><br/>He felt his heartbeat slow down as the Head sent away the armed men, told them to put away the weapons. He lowered his spear in response, a little confused. Maybe it was a trick, a ruse to get him to come with them quietly. But nobody did it like that. He hadn’t been adorned, he hadn’t been offered dream-herbs. And Maria _had_ offered him food. Caught enemies set to be offerings were not fed…<br/><br/>He looked into Maria’s eyes; he was bad with faces, but he had been deceived often enough that the ancestors gave him some knowledge of it. She was calm, expectant. She wanted something – but her voice was even and soft like a slow river. Folk spoke like they were inside, harsh when snake-coiled, gentle when even. “Nihein eringu?” he asked quietly, more to himself than to Maria. He frowned. It was difficult that they could not speak. He pointed to what looked like the Holy Ring of her clan. “Eringu!” Then he grabbed himself by the front of his chemise and pulled. “Maria Aolo Eringum traheht?” He moved his shoulders forward repeatedly and pointed to the Holy Ring, then knelt and made a motion as if he was cutting open something on the ground. “Opfar?” He added upwards waving motions and hissing sounds. “Fiur! Aolo prenat! Giodisc. Diu? Nihein? Tenkia, Maria: Gasto! Aolo gasteht!”