The sun beat down like a physical force, and even with his coolsuit, Urle felt overheated.

The ambient air temperature was just shy of 66, and there was no shade in this region.

It would have been called a savannah on Earth, and in some ways it looked similar. But there were differences.

The craggy trees were actually some kind of hard-skinned mushroom, whose mycelium spread out through the earth for tens of meters around them, sucking up every molecule of water they could find.

It made digging up the dirt difficult; the dense web of mycelium served to pack the earth tight.

If not for the large burrowing creatures that looked like hairy mole crickets, the soil might have turned into a dead hardpan.

But nature provided, and life created the conditions for yet more life.

Where the numerous mole bugs churned up the earth, sprung up the seedgrasses.

Around him, the Hessa, the !Xomyi who lived here, continued to labor.

They all wore light clothing, just a basic poncho woven from the stiffening fibers inside the grass. On their heads were very large hats, almost comically so, their brims extending far to give each person their own shade.

I should have accepted when they offered me one, he thought. The Hessa had offered many gifts, and he had not wanted to intrude on their hospitality too much. Perhaps they'd show him how to make one. It couldn't hurt to have a little shade.

They'd spent all morning cutting down seedgrass. It grew wildly in clumps wherever there was heavy mole bug activity. What drew them to certain spots, Urle did not know. He may have to ask about that, too.

He'd never scythed before, and he was impressed with the skill with which they'd made their scythes; curved sticks with neat flecks of flint inset, their edges incredibly sharp. The trees here were very hard, much harder than on Earth, and the tools broke often. When the flint chips broke, one could just pull them out and put in a new one.

One of his had broken, and he yanked it out. One of the Hessa watched him.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Do not get cut," the woman said. "The edges are sharp."

It was his metal hand. "Thank you, I'm fine," he said. Reaching into a pocket on his belt, he found a well-sized piece of flint and then fitted it in.

His pack was larger than the others, and already nearly full.

He stopped, taking a handful of seedgrass stems, and cutting them with his tool. Seeds sprinkled from the top with each movement.

The cycle of life continued, he thought.

The Hessa did not sow any seeds themselves. The seedgrasses were all naturally occurring, the conditions here were simply perfect for them to spread.

It seemed almost too convenient, but he knew his history; this was how agriculture had begun on Earth, too.

His basket was packed full, and the sound of a blowing horn came from the direction of the village itself.

"Ah, finally!" the Hessa woman near him said. "The sun was getting very high!"

Near noon, when the heat got to its worst, even too much for the !Xomyi, they came into the shade to rest in the village.

He wasn't sure if it really qualified as a village or not, to be honest. It was a collection of huts, one collective longhouse and a storehouse. There was one other building, whose function he was not clear on. It was not spoken of much, and they seemed protective of it. He guessed it may be some sort of temple or holy site.

He only really saw Hessa near it when some cleaning needed to be done.

There was no true leader, but people knew the roles that needed to be done and seemed to take on tasks for themselves or the group very naturally.

Yet he could see how signs of social class had already begun. Some people gravitated towards the roles of guidance or even speaking to spirits.

They followed in the footsteps of parents, and the others accorded them with great respect.

The man who had blown the horn was one such figure; the Hornblower was both his name and title, and he was the only one who ever blew the horn. Whether it was taboo or not for others to do so, Urle didn't know.

One day, he thought, Hornblower might be the title of the hereditary ruler. Or perhaps even a religious title, the Hessa attributing to horns a spiritual power.

They filtered back into the village, which had no name, dropping off their packs in the central long house. Most would retire then to their private huts for a rest, before the grueling work of threshing and grinding the seeds began.

Urle lingered in the longhouse. In here was the wise woman, Ukn!aa. Her daughters, whose names were simply First Daughter, Second Daughter, and Third Daughter, were emptying the baskets, spreading the stalks out on the floor.

Ukn!aa walked among them, shaking a rattle over them. Her eyes were nearly closed, as she contemplated the spirits for portents.

Urle kept a respectful silence, hoping his presence was not rude. No one had commented, at least.

Hornblower came in loudly.

Urle had seen glances between the two that showed both rivalry for influence and also attraction. Neither, he thought, were selfish or greedy, but they had slightly differing thoughts on their people.

It made Urle's position difficult. If he won over one, it might make the other oppose him. He had to make himself a trusted friend to both.

"Outlander," Hornblower said to him with a nod.

"Hornblower," Urle said, politely.

The !Xomyi man looked to Ukn!aa. "What do the spirits say?" he demanded.

Ukn!aa said nothing, continuing her trance-like dance. Her eldest daughter approached Hornblower.

"My mother is still speaking to the spirits," she said. "They are disquiet."

"Why?"

The daughter's eyes flickered, briefly, to Urle. "She is still trying to learn. The Sky is angry. The Moon looks down on us and is not pleased with what it sees."

Hornblower's gaze also flickered towards Urle.

There had yet to be an outward hostility to him. But he was a change, to a people who had a predictable way of life. That was enough to put some concern in their minds.

"How do we please the moon?" Hornblower asked.

"She will learn," the eldest daughter insisted.

Urle felt eyes on him again from the two younger daughters of Ukn!aa. They were not staring, but simply glancing at him, nervously.

He had been hoping to speak to the shaman woman, and then start helping with the threshing and grinding.

But perhaps it would be better for him to step out. For now.