The snow fell around her shoulders as they lowered Velma's husband into the ground, the casket carved exquisitely with cherubs and vines and flowers. It was amazing that they had found a plot of earth in this wretched mountain that was warm enough that the earth had thawed enough to warrent a casket at all. Really, it was none of her business if that travelling sideshow of a woman wanted to ply her wares for free in the place least likely to consume them. Velma wasn't about to stop her from making a fool of herself.

Clearly this Vera character was not completely destitute.

Whatever. Velma shed a few tears as they shovelled the snow-sodden earth on top of dearest Henri, resting now beside sweet Solomon and noble Theo. All her husbands, actually, lay in a row here in the cemetery, and Velma sighed heavily as she thought of all the unfortunate ways they had met their ends.

But that way lay madness.

The undertaker appeared by her side, and Velma looked down, averting her gaze as he spoke to her. She flashed her eyes from under heavy lids, and she averted them again, smiling warmly all the while. The undertaker couldn't take his eyes off her, she knew.

That was just fine by her. She always looked her best in mourning.

It was dawn before Gershwin was awake. Tem and Kodavix were sitting up with him to make certain the doctor didn't come in and start making more trouble than was necessary for them. The reception of Gershwin's race - tribesman, had he been called? - had been startling to say the least.

The doctor's words twisted around Tem's head, filling the darkness with frustrating and frustrated thoughts. It was difficult being blind, but at the same time, quite gratifying. Tem knew that with his eyes damaged as they were, it was easy for him to do something very few others could do. He could judge people on their words and actions, more than on their appearances and their apparant idiocy.

And listening to the doctor told him quite a bit about how Gershwin's people were perceived around here. Dogs. Wretches. Barely worth the pounds of flesh that they possessed on their bones.

As the first rays of the sun came streaming in through the doctor's recovery room, Gershwin's breathing changed, and Tem heard him sit up. Kodavix hurried to his side and pushed his forepaws against the bed on which he lay.

"How ya feelin'?" Kodavix asked with a conciliatory tone. Tem could just imagine the worried look on his face. He'd seen enough dogs in his days of sight to guess what the Runners mostly looked like, even though he still had a difficult time mapping faces by touch alone. He was very good with voices and smells, however, which was thankful.

Gershwin was slow in answering, and Tem crossed carefully to the opposite side of his bed, feeling the sun stream onto his shoulders. He sighed heavily and shook his head. "You gave us quite a scare," he admitted.

The blank confusion was evident in Gershwin's voice, even though his answer was not in the least off the mark. "I feel like I've been dragged for miles behind a frenzied mare," he admitted.

"You had a fit of some sort," Tem tried to explain.

"Yes," Gershwin agreed.

"We don't know what it was."

"No."

Tem did the blind-man equivalent of staring at him for a long moment before offering up an exasperated, "Do you?"

"I have an idea," the tribesman admitted as he swung out of bed and staggered. Tem offered him a hand up, which he completely ignored. Tem just rolled his eyes and hugged his staff close to him. Fine. Be that way.

"Do you plan on telling us?"

"No."

Tem was starting to let his exasperation show. It was a good thing they hadn't sent Gleb in for this interview. At the end of it, it would have been easy to tell just how much a tribesman was worth, simply by looking at how many pounds of flesh the butcher was going to remove from his bones.

"You said some strange words when you came out of it," he tried to probe again.

"Yes."

"Chayal umh--"

"Allay ch'hall umbaya."

Tem blinked at him. "Yes," he agreed.

The silence stretched between them like chasms filled with menacing spires ready to skewer any who might be stupid enough to jump in.

"Do you know what that means?" he ventured again. He was blind. What spires he couldn't see couldn't hurt him. Right?

"Of course."

"So it's your native tongue."

"It's something."

Tem felt himself start to glare again. "What does it mean?"

Gershwin steadied himself at last and limped towards the door. "It means what it means what it means," he answered cryptically, and shut the door behind him.

Tem let out a snarl of frustration, and Kodavix padded towards him. "At least he's all right," he said brightly.

"It would probably kill him to answer a few simple questions outside of a riddle," Tem muttered.

"Well then, you shouldn't expect him to. We don't want Gershwin to die."

Tem stared down at the floor where Kodavix's voice had come. "That's not... Oh, nevermind," he sighed, and he tapped his way towards the door, the little Runner puppy quick on his heels.