he edge of the watercourse as he could； he pulled his knife from his belt and dug in the wet soil； at last turning up some spitfly roe。 He wrapped the shiny things in his kerchief； saving one only to bait the hook。 This done； he tossed the line back into the water to trail behind the boat。 As he poled out into the middle of the stream once more； thunder grumbled in the distance。 It seemed to be farther away than last time。 He shook his head sadly。 The storm was in no hurry。
It was late afternoon when he passed out of the overhanging thicket of mangroves and emerged into unshadowed sunlight once more。 Here the waterway grew wider and deeper。 A sea of reeds rolled out toward the horizon； all but motionless in the oppressive heat； crisscrossed with the shining tracks of other watercourses。 The sky was gray with threatening clouds； but the sun burned brightly behind them。 and Tiamak could not help but feel more lighthearted。 An ibis rose； white wings flapping slowly； then settled down into the reeds a short distance away。 To the south； past miles of marsh and swamp forest； he could see the dark line of the Nascadu Mountains。 To the west； invisible beyond an endless prairie of cattails and mangroves； lay the sea。
Tiamak poled distractedly； momentarily caught up in a correction he had decided to make in his great work of scholarship； a revision of The Sovran Remedies of the Wranna Healers。 He had suddenly realized that the shape of the cattail itself might have something to do with its use among the men of the Meadow Thrithings as a marital potion； and was planning the wording of a footnote that would delicately suggest this connection without seeming too clever； when he felt a strange vibration against his back。 He turned； startled； and saw that his fishing line was pulled taut； humming like the plucked string of a lute。
For a moment he was sure it must be a snag…the pull was so strong that it had imparted some of its tension to the stern of the boat…but as he leaned over he saw some silver…gray thing rise briefly toward the surface； wriggling； then dive down into the blackish water again。 A fish！ As long as Tiamak's arm！ He gave a small cry of delight and began to pull on the line。 The silver thing seemed to leap up at him。 For a split instant one pale； shiny fin appeared above the water； then it vanished beneath the boat； stretching the line tight。 Tiamak heaved and it gave a little； but not much。 It was a strong fish。 A sudden image of the line snapping and his next two days' worth of meals swimming away filled Tiamak's heart with sick horror。 He lessened the tension on the fishing line。 He would let the fish tire itself； then he could reel it in at his leisure。 In the meantime； he would keep an eye open for a dry patch where he could build a fire。 He could wrap the fish in minog leaves； and surely there would be wild quickweed growing somewhere nearby。。。 In his thoughts he could already taste it。 The heat； the recalcitrant thunderstorm； his betrayal of Morgenes （as he still saw it） and all else receded in the warm glow of the contemplated meal。 He tested the line again； rejoicing at the firm； steady pull。 He had not had fresh fish in weeks！
A splash impinged on his reverie。 Tiamak looked up to see a rainbow of ripples spreading beside the shoreline； a couple of long stone…throws away。 There was something else as well： a moment later he picked out a row of low bumps like tiny islands moving smoothly through the water toward his boat。
Crocodile！ Tiamak's heart quailed。 His wonderful dinner！ He tugged hard at the line； but the fish was still beneath the flatboat and resisting fiercely； the line burned his palms as he struggled unsuccessfully to wrestle the fish to the surface。 The crocodile was a dark blur just below the surface； the motion of its powerful tail sending eddies across the still water。 Its craggy back breached for just a moment； a hundred cubits from where Tiamak sat； then it was gone…diving toward his fish！
There was no time to think； no time at all。 His dinner； his fishing hook； his line； all would be lost if he waited a moment longer。 Tiamak felt a black rage flare into life in his empty stomach and a band of pain tighten itself around his temples。 His mother； had she lived to see him at this moment； would hardly have recognized her shy； clumsy son。 If she had seen what he did next； she would have stumbled to the shrine of She Who Birthed Mankind at the back wall of the family hut； then fainted dead away。
Tiamak looped the cord tied to his knife…hilt around his wrist； then flung himself over the stern of the boat。 Mumbling inarticulately with anger and despair； he barely sucked in a hasty breath and closed his mouth before the green； cloudy water closed over his head。
Flailing； he opened his eyes。 The sunlight filtered down through the watercourse； passing through plumes of drifting silt as through clouds。 He darted a glance up at the rectangular darkness that was the bottom of his boat and saw a glittering shape hanging there。 Despite his wild； heart…thumping panic； he felt a moment of satisfaction at the size of the fish lying torpid at the end of his line。 Even his father Tugumak would have had to admit it was a splendid catch！
As he stroked upward； reaching toward his prize； the shimmering thing darted along the boat…bottom and slipped out of sight along the craft's far side； rising up out of Tiamak's view。 The line pulled taut against the wooden hull。 The Wrannaman snatched at it wildly； but it now hugged the boat so tightly that his fingers could find no purchase。 He gave a little cough of dread； sending bubbles dancing outward。 Hurry； he must hurry！ The crocodile would be upon him in a moment！
His heartbeat boomed in the watery silence of his ears。 His scrabbling fingers could not grip the line。 The fish remained out of sight and out of reach； as if perversely determined that it should not suffer alone； and panic was making Tiamak clumsy。 He finally gave up and pushed himself away from the bottom of the boat； kicking to bring himself upright。 The fish was lost。 He had to save himself。
Too late！
A dark shape slid past him and angled upward； slipping in and out of the shadow of his boat。 The crocodile was not the largest he had ever seen； but it was certainly the largest he had ever been beneath。 Its white belly passed over him； the tail a diminishing stripe buffeting him with its wake。
His breath was pressing on his lungs； burning to escape and fill the murky water with bubbles。 He kicked and turned； his eyes feeling as though they would push from his head； and saw the blunt arrow…shape of the crocodile skimming toward him。 Its jaws parted。 There was a glimpse of red…shadowed darkness and an infinity of teeth。 He whirled； swinging his arm； and watched the horrifyingly slow movement of the knife as he pushed it against the wall of water。 The reptile thumped against his ribs； rasping him with its horny hide as he struggled out of its way。 His knife bit shallowly into its flank； dragging along the armored skin for a moment before bouncing off。 A thin brown…black cloud trailed the crocodile as it swam on； circling the boat once more。
Tiamak's lungs felt as though they had grown impossibly large within his chest； straining at his ribs until spots of blackness began to appear before his eyes。 Why had he been such a fool？ He didn't want to die like this； drowned and eaten！
Even as he tried to struggle upward toward the surface； he felt a crushing pressure enfold his leg； in the next instant； he was jerked down… ward。 His knife spilled loose from his hand； and his arms and free leg kicked wildly as he was pulled toward the darkness of the river bottom。 A belch of bubbles escaped his lips。 The faces of the elders of his tribe； Mogahib and Roahog the Potter and others； seemed to press down on his dimming sight； their expressions full of weary disgust at his idiocy。
His knife…cord still looped his wrist； as he whirled down into river… darkness he struggled to find the hilt。 His hands coiled against it and he summoned his strength； then leaned forward against the bottomward pull； finding the hard； rough jaws that clutched his leg。 Clinging wit