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The other was silent, but Ar-Khalba could see that she willed him to speak further. She was listening intently; a rare thing indeed among the Malkaria. He took his opportunity and continued. "I was a young boy," he began. "Born to a group that wandered from place to place. But the plains near Surrendra, the homeland of the Malkaria, was the home I knew. It was there that I was raised with my siblings." The land bordering Caanan's Tophet was fresh in Ar-Khalba's mind, but the time he spent with his natal group was entrenched the fog of fading memory.

"I was two months old, and I liked to roam without supervision." He recalled that his youthful naivety had been his downfall. "On the fringes of the place we made our camp was a thing. A man, who told me that he was my friend." Young as he was, Ar-Khalba had been pressed to believe him. "He was a spindly thing; smaller than I -- but I remember how he grabbed me by the scruff and took me away." His taker's size had made no difference then.