ranches stirred. "I'm right here," Ilg said. "I've been Thinking."
"But—your caste—"
"Pilot," Ger said sadly, "why don't you wake up? Most of the people on Grom are miserable. Only custom makes us take the caste-shape of our ancestors."
"Pilot," Ilg said, "all Grom are born Shapeless!"
"And being born Shapeless, all Grom should have Freedom of Shape," Ger said.
"Exactly," Ilg said. "But he'll never understand. Now excuse me. I want to Think." And the oak tree was silent.
Pid laughed humorlessly. "The Men will kill you off," he said. "Just as they killed off all the other expeditions."
"No one from Grom has been killed," Ger told him. "The other expeditions are right here."