"What's this?" asked the Raydower leader.
Yorgh grimaced, and let his head drop.
"Keep it," he said. "I make you a gift of it."
Ueln hesitated. He moved his wolly forward a pace to call to Vaneen.
"It's his good luck charm," said the girl sourly.
"So?" Ueln hefted the metal cylinder in his hand thoughtfully. "What kind of luck has he been having?"
When no one answered him, Ueln leaned back, tossed a leg over the wolly's front shoulders, and slid gracefully to the ground as if to search the fire more thoroughly. Unfortunately, his foot landed upon a thick piece of dust-covered fat discarded from the roast of the night before.
Yorgh looked up to see the Raydower sitting on the ground with much the same expression as when the hunter had lunged at him. This time, he held the metal stick instead of Yorgh's spear.
After a moment, he climbed to his feet and looked around at his men. None of them laughed.
The dark man stepped over to Yorgh, and the latter felt the metal object thrust into the pouch on his belt before Ueln cut him loose so he could sit astride the saddle.