The other bowed. "Michaels," he said. "I know you. And these?"
Don looked at him, his thoughts going into overdrive. The form of address was all wrong. Always before, he had been Donald, of the clan Michaels—they abbreviated it to Michaelsdon. But what had gone wrong now?
He tensed a little, then relaxed. At least, it was a friendly greeting. One does not "know" an enemy. He extended a hand toward Jasu Waern.
"I bring the Waerntal, Jasu. And his son, Waernpeto," he said.
The other nodded. "The men of Kor-en know the Waernu," he said noncommitally. "You want dealings with the Korental?"
Don nodded. "The Waerntal would discuss clan affairs with the Korental." he said. "I but serve as guide."
"It is well. You and this clansman may rest by the wells." Korendwar turned toward Jasu Waern, gesturing with his sling.
"I will conduct you to the Korental, your honor."
Pete leaned against a mossy bank and watched one of the village women as she raised a clay pot from a well.