He followed the scent for miles, up onto the plains, to a farmstead past all settled parts. He paused in the woods on the edge of a field.

A bat darted above him and flittered out over fields of ripe grain shining pale and blue in the moonlight. On the far side of the fields stood a simple cabin with light shining from its small windows.

Hunger took in a great breath of the scent. He knew he shouldn’t do that because it only enflamed his appetite. And the Mother had wanted this human live. But he couldn’t help himself.

He walked along the tree line toward it and noticed a number of new stumps. Somebody had been busy this year clearing the land. When Hunger finally approached the cabin, he could hear the soft sounds of a man humming over the thrum of the night insects. He circled the cabin until he found a window. The scent of magic was pouring from the cracks around the window frame. Hunger looked in.

But he did not see Argoth. A burly man stood naked in a large round tub set close to the hearth. He was washing himself. A pot of water steamed over the cheery fire. The man took a cake of soap and lathered his hairy chest. Hunger did not recognize him. He was not the Koramite that had attacked him in the tower. Yet he stank.

Hunger considered the Mother’s promise. It had raised his hopes at first, but the more he pondered it, the more it unraveled. What cattleman did his cattle favors? When did one spare a healthy animal from slaughter? You might keep a bull or cow a number of years; the slaughter might be delayed, but when they ceased to be productive, they, with all the rest, were harvested. It was that simple. The Mother thought he was stupid. And maybe he was. But he could see through her lie.

The Mother had forbidden him to eat the ones that stink. Why was that? They couldn’t be trusted to serve her. She was going to cull them. So why not order him to do it for her?

He knew why: she didn’t want him eating their secrets. Because if he knew their secrets, maybe he could challenge her. Surely they would know how to remake the collar. And if they knew that, they might hold other secrets far more powerful. Secrets strong enough to overpower the Mother.

Hunger walked up to the door. The man sang a few words then continued to hum his tune. Something about the tune pricked Hunger’s mind, and he paused, listening. The music filled him with longing as wide as the sky, but no thoughts. Nothing to hang the longing upon.

He felt a revulsion at the thought of eating this man. He realized he’d felt this revulsion before, but it had always been lost in the raging fire of his appetite. But the revulsion didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that what he was doing was abomination. What mattered was that he had an opportunity to stop the Mother. What mattered was that he could free his family.

The humming swelled.

He would eat this man and satisfy his appetite.

Hunger thrust open the door.

The man did not look at him in horror, only surprise that turned to intelligence. Then the man lunged out of his tub toward the window.

Hunger followed.

The man took two steps and dove at the window. He burst through the shutters.

He was quick and would have escaped, but Hunger was quicker and caught him by the leg just before it disappeared through the window. The man kicked like a horse, but Hunger dragged him back in.

The man did not cry out. He simply turned and delivered a blow to Hunger’s throat that would have killed a bull. But the Mother’s handiwork wasn’t so easily defeated. Instead of felling Hunger, all the man succeeded in doing was breaking his own hand. He drew it back, pain wracking his face.

The Mother didn’t know he was here. She was crooning to her children, deep in the caves, and watching over the Sleth woman. Nevertheless, he expected to fight her compulsion.

Then he realized she hadn’t said not to eat this one. No, she hadn’t said that.

The man used his good hand to pick up a chair. He hammered at Hunger’s grip. But Hunger did not let him go. Hunger would not bend to the Mother’s wishes like some idiot cow whose only thought was of grass. He was, underneath all this dirt, a man. And even though this Sleth didn’t realize it, he was going to help save Hunger’s family. He was going to be put to good use. And who knew: if Hunger learned the secrets and defeated the Mother completely, then this Sleth would be the means of saving every mother and daughter and son of the Nine Clans.

Hunger felt along the fiber of this Sleth’s being. Soon enough he found an edge. It took only a few moments and Hunger shucked his soul. He was sweet and beautiful and Hunger could not help but bolt great portions of him.

Then the Mother stirred and Hunger froze. He immediately released the man’s soul. The remnants flew to the wind as Hunger waited. He stood quietly for some time bracing himself for her ire. But the Mother didn’t search him. She didn’t walk into his mind. She was too busy. Much too busy.

The man was gone.

Hunger hated himself and yet delighted in the savor of the man. He only hoped he’d eaten enough.

He stepped to the table and fingered the comb. He knew the tune the man was humming. He played it in his mind, waiting for the memories to digest. Waiting for the secrets.

But Hunger did not receive secrets. All he felt was the growing of an unaccountable sorrow. And then the picture of a tall, plain woman with laughing eyes.

He should not have let the man go, but it was too late now. The rest of his secrets were gone. Hunger stood at the man’s table for a long time, handling the things there-a seashell brush, a polished mirror, and a length of green cloth-all woman things. He could not say why, but he threw all these in the fire. Then he watched them burn to ash.

I am a ruin, he thought. He picked up one of the red, dying coals and held it in his hand. But if he had to become a ruin, if he had to become ash, then so be it. He knew the location of another Sleth. He knew where he could find the Shoka’s hammer, where he could find Argoth.

Hunger arrived in the dark of the early morning and walked up to the door to Argoth’s house. He slid a tendril from one of his fingers between the back door and its frame and silently lifted the bar.

The dogs surprised him, but he quickly twisted their necks, gulping down their Fire and soul. Hunger stood in the kitchen with the dead dogs at his feet, but when nobody came to investigate, he proceeded to search the house. He found four rooms. There was nothing in them but beds filled with sleeping children and servants. He creaked down the hallway and found Argoth’s wife asleep. Argoth was not with her.

Hunger retreated to a dark corner of the room and waited for Argoth, watching his wife toss and turn and finally kick the bedcovers to the floor. But when he smelled the beginnings of the morning winds, Hunger exited as quietly as he had come.

He took the bodies of the dogs with him and waited in the tree line by a fat chestnut. He would catch Argoth when he returned.

The night turned to morning. Argoth’s daughters came out to hang clothes on a line to dry. The wife stood in the back doorway and whistled for the dogs that lay at his feet. Meanwhile, a group of servants walked out to the vineyard with baskets and cutting knives and began to pick grapes.

When he was a man, he would have salivated at the thought of the red table grapes, the skin colored with a blue dust, and all of it bursting with a tangy sweetness. But grapes held no appeal to him now. It was only a memory of a desire that ghosted by.

He supposed Argoth would be conducting a search for him. But could they track a man of dirt? He did not think so. Morning grew toward noon, and then the breeze brought him a whiff of magic. The scent was barely detectable, almost a lie, but it was there.