Daniel swung his zark in the direction of the calf"s bawling. He could hear men and women shouting and the herd stampeding. He was out on the high prairies of Don, an interlude of playing at being what his fither called a rancher. It was enough to convince him the stars would be his realm.
He rounded the small hillock and saw six land Abs cutting up the dead cow and a woman holding on to the leather rope around the bawling calf. They turned to look at him as the zark"s hooves clopped on the hard ground. A tall man holding the knife stood.
He was dressed in skins and shod with the leather shoes of an Ab. His hair was dark and came down to his shoulders.
“I am Mal the Maca of Don.”
“Ye canna be Maca. That title belongs to my Elder Fither, Llewellyn.”
The man threw out his chest and lift
