"You cracked the dome!" Metas' words were hoarse ill past believing.
Cracked the dome!
He could have shouted. Had he been free he might have danced. He sent a voiceless thanks to the Redbearded Elder. "We've done it."
His eyes shone. "Now do you believe," he cried aloud, "now will you admit that York folk who could achieve such power could achieve survival. Give us a year," he asked, "a year of grace—a chance to prove they were right."
The room was still.
The answer he asked was past all teachings, past ingrained traditions. Would they consent?
The whispered amongst themselves. Allyn's eyes went to Marva, to Keeven, and to the newly freed Aleena. Their glances on him were wide, troubled and hopeful, anxious and eager. They barely breathed as Metas came away from his group.
"Allyn," he said, "you are a throwback so you would be willing to mate with an Olman. But who amongst us would do likewise?"
"I will!"
The answer, proud and unhesitating, came from Aleena. And her eyes were on Keeven. "I do not find Olmen as bestial as our tales have warned."