Something kept bugging him.Back inside the cave, he looked at his pottery lined up along one wall. “It’s not dry enough,” he told no one. “If ... fire this now, I’m going to cause most of it to break.” Taking everything outside, he grouped it together but not touching in the wide hole. Well away from the pottery, he circled it with small limbs, rotten wood and grass, and set a small fire. This, he hoped, would finish drying the clay pots and bowls and give him better results when he fired. In fact, I know a lot of languages. You pick up on things, listening to people." "But what about Marcus? What did you do to him?" Her voice went up an octave. "Just traded places, until I decide to let him out. Which I will, shortly. I'm sorry about the pretense. I thought a scare would help put you in the mood." "In the mood? Wait a minute!" said Sharon, standing up straighter. "If you're not Marcus, then why did you…I mean we—we…” "Ah, yes, I can explain that." Sharon waited. Ta’Awa said. More

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