There was no other kind of human, except for the giants, and even these spoke the same language as the rest of the human race, in spite of their great difference in size. Even those with six fingers were not so different as all that. Yet in spite of the fact that there was only one race among men -which included the giants- there was hatred in almost every heart, wickedness such as to compound every evil, and deliberate mimicry of the savage wild beasts which roamed this wild primitive world so overflowing with such indescribable natural beauty.
Si'Wren reached for the water skin, and fumbled as her fingers plucked for it, and accidentally dropped it in the dirt. She reached down and picked it up, ignoring the rough coating of caked-on mud which clung to the bag as she raised it to her lips. The water ran freely out of the bag's horn spout, it's mud coating wrinkling across the contracting, silken wet goat skin, giving rise to many miniature ridges.
When she had drunk her full, she heedlessly hung the depleted goat skin back on the stub of a knot-end on the tent pole upright, a small axe-hewn sapling. The half-dried mud clung to the goat skin in a curious pattern of broken and layered ridges that were partly crushed together wherever their broken edges collided and overran one-another as a result of the escape of water beneath the muddy leather, which Si'Wren had taken to quench her thirst.
The water skin forgotten, she rubbed her hands lightly to brush the coating of mud off her palms and turned to her work, while unheeded behind her, some of the water skin's encrusted mud crumbled and dropped to the ground behind her bare feet in little broken clods that contained the tiny seeds of plants, and the remains of a few dead insects.
Even as there was but one race of man, which included the giants and the six-fingered ones, there was also but one breed, likewise, of the dog.
Hardly a noble creature to look upon, the common camp dog was a different breed altogether from the huge and fearsome dire wolves that stood as tall as a man at the shoulder and roamed the farthest and deepest wilds in savage packs.
The dogs of men more resembled the small wild plains dogs.
Yet, like the wolves, which ran in packs, this hardy domesticated breed retained a strong pack instinct. It was used as a guard dog and camp scavenger, but could, like any wolf, become dangerous if starved too long or unduly provoked, as by the tauntings of foolish children.
Covertly watching the giant visitor, Si'Wren found it a relief not to be seen by him, unlike the unhappy Foundryman, who, normally considered by all to be no runt in his own right and anything but a coward, looked now equally as puny and scared as any small boy. He looked so scared that Si'Wren could not help but feel sorry for him. The giant was so tall that the Foundryman must needs tilt his head back and look almost straight up at the hairy visitor. What an ugly head, to behold against the majesty of the skies.
"Their gods may indeed be strong," said Nelatha, "but the fight is not always to the strong, nor the race to the swift, and I have heard speakings in my time, of an Invisible God."