Shrill hums and chirps signaled it was his time to awaken. He slid out of the waxy tube and dexterously climbed down. Wide as it was tall sitting on spindly legs the Dauver reported its inventory. A single chirp for the first two for the next and eventually 16 for him, and it continued. The young kesit domi stared down ears twitching to the grinding buzz made whenever a count was missed. Each buzz was a body. Each buzz was a unit of fertilizer added to the stock. After inventory 16 turned and climbed to gather all the bodies of the missed numbers. He'd trained himself to imitate the chirps by clicking his tongue and blowing air over it. So he buzzed like a little Drauver as he gathers the stocks. There were 3 to be carried. They were likely ill and would not be used as food.

16 and 17 worked together to drag them all to be processed. 17 didn't understand the system of clicks 16 used to sort out which cells needed to be emptied but had decided that checking each cell was more work than his failing body could handle. 17 had shown him how to skin the dead and drain the blood. He'd shown him how to use sand and grit to remove the extra meat on the bones. 16 would be processing him before long and they would continue and survive.

The haze of memories drifted before his eyes. Had he been so passionless, so uncaring. Yes. Dreamer had been those 16 chirps and nothing more at that time. He still recalled coming to the point where it was either starve or eat what was available. Others had come to that same conclusion. How long would he have lasted, dull and unthinking as he was?

With a thought, the vapors left his mind and drew from his lungs. Eyes fell on his hands both thumbs on his left were crossed as a symbol of the state of his meditation. Signs and symbols. He'd been considering those. A hand gesture could be used to remind him of the mental exercise to enter these trances. Crossed thumbs on the left for memory on the right for insight, both hands balled as fists for determination. Indexing the combs in the hives was easier than monitoring the exact state of his trances. Mostly they were wild and acted on his feelings, and those were things he'd not been accustomed to and had little control over from the beginning.

His mind wandered as the last of the fog left him. How much longer until that abomination returned with the gift. Why had that thing inside him spared it? He shook his head clear of the rest.

A chill blew through the flaps as he opened and exited from his hut. Neat rows of wigwams and mud huts spiraled away from his hut. Better shelters could have been built, but these temporary structures would hold as long as they were needed. 16 knew that permanence wasn't the nature of their stay.

A quartet of new wailing carried it's way to him on the wind. A chanting began then. "The Kin grow stronger" it repeated through each hut, a low chant. They were 2093 now should all four survive, more likely 2091, but the Kin grew stronger still.

They had all changed he remembered it. There was that presence in him now, perhaps in all of them. Whatever it was, gave them all whatever this would be. 16 no The First Dreamer would ensure it would continue. The Dreamer saw the 4 shamans coming his way and clasped both hands together touching the tips of both hands together in a sign of respect. Yes free, and now they counted young as inventory he thought to himself.

Head back he clapped once for thunder, misted spittle for the storm. Then, with head back, a bellow, a roar, a challenge. It poured out from his lips and spread through the tribe.

"Our mothers bleed for us.

So shall our foes.

The Kin grow stronger"

The tribe repeated the mantra after him.

The first of his shaman continued

"Our fathers hunt for us.

No longer Fodder.

The kin grow stronger!"

Again the tribe repeated the mantra

The second shaman belted out.

"Our brothers build"

The third shaman

"Our sisters cook"

The fourth

"Our weak stand beneath us."

The tribe shook all shouting with celebration,

"The Kin grow Stronger!

The Kin grow Stronger!"