days that followed, alongside his study of the green book, some portion of each day was devoted to learning new words; and when Kit was not adding to his word store, he was practising the ones he had already learned. In this way, he gradually built up a working vocabulary and, with it, a sense of how the River City Clan saw the world.
Among themselves, they still did not speak all that much. But around him they became regular chatterboxes. The difference was stark, and Kit wondered about it—until the obvious explanation occurred to him: they needed very little speech because they had this strange telepathy, or whatever it was that allowed them to know what others were thinking. Among clan members, they communicated just fine without any speech at all. It was only Kit who was forced to vocalise to make himself understood.
Confirmation of this fact was conclusively demonstrated by the arrival of visitors a few days later.
The weather had been growing steadily colder and wetter, the days shorter. More often than not they awoke in the morning to frost on the ground. Nestled in their rock-ledge fortress, however, they remained dry and reasonably warm. Kit was sewing a handsome new suit of fur—deer and rabbit, mostly—which with patience and dogged perseverance he was patching together using the flint knife, bone needle, and hemp thread they had given him. He was putting the finishing touches on a feature of which he was inordinately proud: a roomy inner pocket designed to hold Mina’s ley lamp and Sir Henry’s book and keep them safe. The clan was lolling around the fire at the rim of the ledge, when suddenly Dardok stood up and gazed off into the foggy treetops along the river.
Instantly, four others joined his survey of the valley below. The rest of the clansmen dropped what they were doing and fell absolutely silent. An atmosphere of intense anxiety descended over the camp. Again, not a word or sign passed among them, but all were wary, the tension swirling around them like the sinewy coils of a serpent. Kit stood too and quietly crept to the rim of the ledge to see if he could discover what had alerted the others. A minute or two eked by, and then he heard a sound he had heard every day since coming to the winter quarters: heavy feet on the rocky trail leading to the ledge.
Someone was coming.
Kit waited, every sense prickling, bracing himself for a fight. Who was it? Were they under attack? He cast a hasty glance around for the nearest weapon.
Then, as one, the clan relaxed. Although Dardok still stood watching the path below, the palpable sense of imminent danger simply melted away. Something had changed. But what?
Before Kit could determine what had happened to alter the mood, he saw movement on the path leading up to the ledge, and a moment later their visitors arrived: a group of fifteen—seven females, five males, and the rest young ones of various ages and sizes. From the enthusiastic welcome that commenced, Kit reckoned the group was well known to the River City folk. In fact, seeing how naturally the newcomers were accepted and how easily they insinuated themselves into the life of the group, Kit began to think that perhaps they were not merely visitors but part of the same extended valley clan.
Then the newcomers saw Kit, and he was subjected to the inevitable examination with much murmuring, touching, and rubbing of his skin and scruffy beard. They appeared fascinated by the colour and texture of his pale skin and fine curly hair; and were amused by his thin frame, short arms, narrow shoulders, and curious upright posture.
The round of buffeting had no sooner concluded than a second group of visitors arrived—four sturdy males bearing a fifth on a litter made of birch poles and skins. This fifth male was the oldest Kit had seen so far, with wispy grey hair and a long white beard and a face so ancient and wrinkled that, wrapped chin to ankles in hides and furs, he looked positively mummified. The bearers carefully lowered the bier to the ground, and several of the nearer clan members helped him to his feet. As soon as he was upright, he waved off his aides and shuffled forward with unsteady steps to meet Kit.
At his approach, Kit became aware of a tingling sensation at the base of his skull. Time seemed to slow—the ordinary flow dwindled down to