”What’s it like in the Ocampa city?” Lanam was asking curiously. ”Are there kids my age there?”

Kes sighed. That was a difficult question, because, of course, Lanam would be older than about a third of the adults, and Tresit older then two-thirds of them. But that wasn’t a topic she was going to tackle until she had to. ”There will be children there, yes… but… only a few of them may be allowed to play with you. It’s…”

”But why?” Lanam asked plaintively. ”Is it… because I can’t see?” She asked softly.

”Lanam, no…” Tresit tried to stop her.

”No, you think I don’t know, but I do…” Lanam spoke solemnly, her voice sounding small. Kes had never heard this usually very cheerful girl sound like this. ”I know it’s my fault. That uncle sent us away because of me…”

Fury washed over Tresit’s face and he stood. ”No! That’s not true! He sent us away because he’s a coward! …He’s the disgrace, not you.” He said, going over to his sister and sitting behind her and hugging her. ”You… you can’t believe that it is your fault, Lanam…”

”…okay…” Lanam replied shyly.

”Tresit is right, you are very precious, to all of us…” Anara spoke softly, moving to be closer to her children. ”It was not your fault, and… in any case, it… no longer matters who’s fault it was. We will never see your uncle Tulk again. And we will have a home, be safe, and not have to worry about food or water ever again.”

Lanam seemed to relax as her mother stroked her hair.

”And besides, that you or Anara can’t see isn’t the reason.” Kes told her softly. ”My people wouldn’t think it was any more important than I do, and I don’t think it makes any difference at all.”

”Then what is the reason?” Tresit asked in a quiet, serious voice.

Kes looked to Anara with regret. ”Because of me. Because I married a woman, and not a man.” Kes told them softly. ”People like me, they don’t stop us from following our hearts, they simply… don’t like to talk to us. Because they think we’re… defective, or because they don’t think it’s the Caretaker’s will.”

Tresit growled a little in the back of his throat. ”Defective. I hate that word – more than any other word, I hate that word.”