Lettie gave Mazelton a blank look, then perhaps feeling like it wasn’t quite getting the point across, transitioned into shock and mild horror.

“You are going to give Danae a glowing skull as a wedding present.”

“Isn’t it great?”

“In… a sense. Walk me through this.”

“I mean, what’s to walk through? It’s the skull of some horrible cultist that was scheming against Danae and her fellow Dusties, who I killed in single combat. And it glows. It seriously, no joke, glows. Stick a shade over it and we have an AMAZING conversation piece, plus an easy way to light the main room.”

“You are going to present Danae, a widowed farmer living under constant threat of violence, a skull trophy. As your wedding present.”

“I can tell by your tone that you think this is a bad idea, but… I mean, I would love to get that as a present. I would feel so much safer if I knew that Danae was not just capable of taking heads, but actively working to make our family more secure.”

“She is. She is securing you against starvation and death from exposure. As well as looming psychopathy, but that one’s really not her job, is it?”

It was Mazelton’s turn to look blank.

“Mazelton, are you capable of feeling empathy for a stranger?”

“Huh? I mean, maybe? I guess it would depend on context.”

“Let's say you saw a kid drowning in the river.”

“Ok.”

Lettie waited for a beat. Then another.

“Is there more to it, or…”

“WHAT WOULD YOU DO! Why do I have to tell you that?”

“Who’s kid is it?”

“Drowning kid, Mazelton, think it through.”

“I might fish them out if it was a Dusty or something. I probably wouldn’t if it were someone from the other Clans, definitely not if they were Ma.”

“Wait, what?”

“What?”

“You definitely wouldn’t save someone from the Ma Clan. You just declared yourself the patriarch of the local chapter of the Ma, and you wouldn’t save one of your drawing clansmen.”

“Eh. Given that it’s a clan of two at this point, I honestly probably would fish them out, but I would feel bad about it. We gotta boost the numbers early on, really no getting around that.”

Lettie looked like she was on the fritz.

“I can’t understand your logic. The Ma are all about survival. Numbers are the name of the game when it comes to survival. You can be the biggest badass in the world, but you are just grass when your farming neighbors and their eighteen kids come scything through. Even when the climate shifts and population centers collapse, the bigger the base population, the more people survive the return to subsistence farming.”

“Except in one set of circumstances.”

“What?”

“When an apocalypse hits. In almost every apocalypse, while teamwork and numbers has its advantages, the survivors are the capable and the ruthless. Ideally you would have both, but it’s the mentality that is the most important.”

Lettie started waving her hands in exasperation.

“Your Clan ran Old Radler! You might as well have called it Old Ma! You were clearly going down a quantitative survival strategy route!”

“One, I don’t know what that is. Two, if you mean we were building numbers and resources against the apocalypse, you are right but- Three, we didn’t actually run the city. We had the most influential voice in what was essentially an oligarchy, but we didn’t run it. Because, four, even including in-laws, we were the smallest Clan in the city. In terms of the main line, anyway. Except for maybe the Pi, but that was your choice, not ours.”

Lettie started angry laughing.

“Because your Clan had nightmare-fuel childhood mortality rates in the name of “training.” Right?”

“Seemed pretty normal to me, but yeah, much fewer of us made it to adulthood than other clans. Trade off is that, well, even a scrub like me can make a name for myself in the City.” He sighed. “I actually have a lot of fond memories of life in the Clan. Some really great relatives, and my parent’s lovers were both lovely, loving people.”

Mazelton awkwardly spun one hand.

“I mean, the world is fundamentally awful. It always has been. It always will be. The Ma have survived epochs, longer than any other Clan, and we can say, definitively, that where there are humans, there is suffering. All we can do is make sure we live, humanity lives, and ideally make the suffering a little less. And if you aren’t going to make it through the apocalypse, or even to the apocalypse, well, don’t take the real survivors down with you. Right?”

“Mazelton that is the dumbest, most half-baked piece of fatalistic, pessimistic, shit that I have ever heard!” Lettie’s voice rose in volume and cadence, detailing the failings, moral, spiritual, intellectual and genetic of Mazelton specifically and the Ma more generally, with extra attention paid to his immediate family.

She started slipping into other languages, including a series of whistles, clicks and pops that, when accompanied by the upsetting pantomime, made her meaning disgustingly clear. Mazelton was startled to realize that she was cursing in time to “As Sally Sipped With Sweety,” a tune that could make a cactus blush.

“Um. In my defense-”

“NOPE! NO DEFENSE. DEFENSE DENIED! You miserable, psychopathic, dumb fuck. My god- hell I’m going to pick a deity so I can curse by them! You water brained boob, when most people skull fuck something, it’s a metaphor or a sex act. You are actually going to skull fuck your marriage with a skull! You SPECTACULAR little urethra worm!”

“It’s a culturally significant gift!”

“IT’S A GODDAMN SKULL AND YOUR CULTURE SUCKS ASS!”

“Just the kind of thing a person who-”

“I dare you to say one goddamn word about my skull. Go on. Do it.”

A cough sounded behind them.

“While this has been educational, could I ask you two to tone it down?” Polyclitus had reached that point of physical and emotional exhaustion where nothing much mattered except not being conscious for a while. It showed.

“Some of us have been working. Or grieving. Or burying the dead.”

“Sorry Polyclitus.”

“Sorry about that.”

“I only caught the swearing, and the catalog of Mazelton’s faults. You forgot fussy, by the way. Never seen a man so fussy about the smallest things and indifferent to the big ones.”

“He seemed fussy, but…”

“Never saw him eat something from the chuck wagon without doctoring it somehow. His tent was set like he was building a house, every night. I swear he had everything in it lined up with a ruler.”

“I love my tent. I won’t hear a bad word about my tent.”

“Oh, we aren’t bad mouthing your tent.”

“Right. It’s a fine tent.”

“Done it’s job very well I would say. Commendable.”

“An inspiration to us all.”

“Shame its owner is such a fussy pain in my ass.”

“Oh, want to feel better?”

“Do you two need me for this conversation?” Mazelton cut in.

“Yes, stick around, I want a punching bag. Listen to this, that glowing skull he sawed off the neck of a cultist? He wants to give it to Danae as a wedding present.”

Polyclitus’ lip twitched. “Heh. Heh heh.” An actual grin threatened to break out. “Hahaaha. Wow. HahahaHAHAHAHAHA!.” He tilted his head back and started guffawing. He laughed so hard tears trickled down from the corner of his eye, as he gasped for breath.

“You’re even worse than me!”

Mazelton was proud of his patience. He didn’t kick them off the mountain.

“Alright, the Giggle Twins have spoken. My thoughtful, meaningful, heirloom quality gift is “bad” and “dumb” and “Oh WOW.” Which, coming from a pair of aesthetic shithouse fires, I should probably take as a supreme complement. So what, in your profound wisdom, SHOULD I bring? Keeping in mind that I filled most of my cargo allotment with her shopping list, and spent the largest part of my winter’s wages on milled sugar. A lot of it.” Mazelton looked mutinous.

“See, that right there is what I would lead in with.” Polyclitus nodded approvingly. “A little sugar for a sweet marriage.”

“Tacky, cloying, trying too hard. It’s perfect.” Lettie agreed wholeheartedly.

“Any choad can get sugar. It’s milled. There is no passion to it, no life. It doesn’t reek of history. It reeks of keeping the damp out, and ants, and watching the sweetness trickle away with time.”

“Ah, there’s that wild heart of yours.” Polyclitus grinned sardonically. “Look, you know what a lot of people get as wedding presents? I mean, not the people getting married, gifts to the people getting married.”

“Narcotics, weaponry, and the heads of their enemies?”

“That… ok that does sound good.”

“Focus, Polyclitus, don’t let him distract you!”

“Right. Bowls. Big ass bowls. Usually made out of something you can’t really mix in, and too fancy to use for anything other than decoration.”

“Pointless bowls are wedding presents.”

“Super common, yeah.” Lettie nodded along.

“I am going to have a Dusty wedding. Danae is devout and I respect that. But I will be fucked by eels if a person gives me a bowl and makes it home without two broken ankles.”

“Oh like Ma weddings are so great!” Polyclitus scoffed.

“Actually, in fairness…” Lettie sounded like it hurt her to admit it.

“They’re good?”

“Legendary.”

“Food is that good?”

“I don’t think they even serve food.”

“We do, but you’re basically right. You would die of shame if people ate more than a few nibbles.” Mazelton agreed.

“How does that work?”

Mazelton’s eyes lit up with joy.

“Let me get a stick, you’ll need a diagram! They are awesome!”

“BACK ON TRACK.” Lettie overruled him.

“Anyone who gives pointless bowls is a sexual deviant, and not the fun kind.”

“No comment. Point is, luxury goods are good. Art products that you make yourself can be good if you are a good enough artist. Which, annoyingly, you are.”

Polyclitus agreed.

“Been meaning to ask if I could have one of your sketches or paintings. You did a real nice one of the sun coming up over the mountains a while back.” He said.

“Sure. I don’t mind. Just, you know, tell everyone what a rat bastard I am, haggling you for every last elm.”

“Huh?”

“People swarm like flies around shit when they hear the word “free.””

“No, what’s an elm?”

“Oh, it’s a kind of tree. Lettie tries to buy things with them, it’s weird but harmless.”

“I hate you so much. Look, for all your many, many, MANY faults, you are good at listening to people that know better. We know better. No skulls. No stacked corpses, or human skin tents. Keep it in a box and make it a ten year anniversary present if you must.”

“Food is good. Cut flowers is nice too. Furniture, clothes and accessories are all good choices too, as long as they aren’t too practical. You gotta make them “special.” Your special wedding whatever.” Polyclitus nodded along.

“Didn’t you say that you were a tailor? Got enough cloth to make her a dress?” Lettie asked.

“No, but someone in the caravan does. I guess I could buy some? Then adjust it when I meet her?”

“Perfect. Yeah, a dress, the sugar, maybe some unthreatening art, and you could be marriage material.” Lettie sounded encouraging, but hesitated. “And, you know, just… maybe pretend to be interested in the wellbeing of people whose existence does not immediately and materially benefit you. Just fake that particular emotion, ok? I believe in you. You can do it.”

“Right, what she said. It’s not lying to your wife, it’s strategically presenting the truth. That person isn’t useless, they have a good heart.” Or- “That drunk is just full of passion and camaraderie! And you are one hundred percent OK with helping them walk the two miles to their home.”

“And, key point here, they do have to make it home, safely, without damage to their person or property. Ok?” Lettie asked pointedly.

“Is it really that important?”

“In a small farming town in the ass end of nowhere? Your ever move, expression and tone of voice will be observed, recorded and analyzed by your bored as fuck neighbors. You accidentally call a white house yellow and your great grandkids will be hearing a fifteen minute story about the scandal. Nobody will ever ask you where you are going, because they will already know.” Polyclitus smiled “warmly.” “And they will be judging you all the time. Ain’t life in a village grand?”

Mazelton looked meditative.

“Danae would be sad if you burned down the village.” Lettie reminded him.

And that, Mazelton decided, was a good enough reason not to do that.

Mazelton did, discreetly, ask around about the availability of cloth. Some people had just made a sudden windfall, and since they would be selling the cloth regardless, they were open to swapping for something more practical. It was a shimmery blue cloth, not too shiny, but if the light caught it just right, it seemed to sparkle. It had a lovely hand to it, pouring through Mazelton’s fingers like cool water. It wasn’t the airy, almost ethereal cloth that Mazelton favored, but it was, he concluded, pretty. And he could make it work for Danae. He would have to think about what kind of dress to make.

If Danae didn’t wear dresses, he was going to kick Lettie’s ass up around her ears. It took time to cut a dress. He also hunted around for an appealing block of wood. If he couldn’t have a skull conversation piece, he would make his own damn conversation piece! He found a few good pieces, none big enough for a grand centerpiece, but enough for some mixed media work. Mazelton half closed his eyes as he turned them about. Maybe a flight of ducks? Ducks were good. And non threatening. Ish. Depends on how much you know about ducks. Mazelton shook his head and sighed. Ducks are good. Don’t over think. That way madness lies.

He set to work carving. The Collective started trekking back west. There was a trail a couple of days back that diverted to the south for a week or so, before turning west again. It was a long, long way out of the way, but it did mean putting whole chains of enormous mountains between them and their enemies. And they had a lot fewer mouths to feed now.

Mazelton quietly carved until dinner, when he loaded up his bowl, looked Polyclitus dead in the eye, and added a big dollop of mustard. His tent, he was pleased to see, was in remarkable order, and yes, squared away to an exacting degree. It was peaceful. Orderly. Under control. His. He lay down on his cot and stared up at the canvass roof. On the road again tomorrow. Not too long now. And people who knew better told him that he needed to figure out who Danae needed him to be, not who he thought he should be to Danae. Sleep was hard to find that night.