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“
Well
,
what
are
they
?
”
“
Each
bush
,
each
weed
you
see
out
there
in
the
erg
,
”
she
said
,
“
how
do
you
suppose
it
lives
when
we
leave
it
?
Each
is
planted
most
tenderly
in
its
own
little
pit
.
The
pits
are
filled
with
smooth
ovals
of
chromoplastic
.
Light
turns
them
white
.
You
can
see
them
glistening
in
the
dawn
if
you
look
down
from
a
high
place
.
White
reflects
.
But
when
Old
Father
Sun
departs
,
the
chromoplastic
reverts
to
transparency
in
the
dark
.
It
cools
with
extreme
rapidity
.
The
surface
condenses
moisture
out
of
the
air
.
That
moisture
trickles
down
to
keep
our
plants
alive
.
”
“
Dew
collectors
,
”
he
muttered
,
enchanted
by
the
simple
beauty
of
such
a
scheme
.
“
I
’
ll
mourn
Jamis
in
the
proper
time
for
it
,
”
she
said
,
as
though
her
mind
had
not
left
his
other
question
.
“
He
was
a
good
man
,
Jamis
,
but
quick
to
anger
.
A
good
provider
,
Jamis
,
and
a
wonder
with
the
children
.
He
made
no
separation
between
Geoff
’
s
boy
,
my
firstborn
,
and
his
own
true
son
.
They
were
equal
in
his
eyes
.
”
She
turned
a
questing
stare
on
Paul
.
“
Would
it
be
that
way
with
you
,
Usul
?
”
“
We
don
’
t
have
that
problem
.
”
“
But
if
—
”
“
Harah
!
”
She
recoiled
at
the
harsh
edge
in
his
voice
.
They
passed
another
brightly
lighted
room
visible
through
an
arch
on
their
left
.
“
What
’
s
made
there
?
”
he
asked
.
“
They
repair
the
weaving
machinery
,
”
she
said
.
“
But
it
must
be
dismantled
by
tonight
.
”
She
gestured
at
a
tunnel
branching
to
their
left
.
