Had it been anyone else, Hagar might have shot back something clipped and flinty about women always being ready and men being slow on the uptake. Lot didn't really inspire that kind of nonsense. Rumor had it his place of honor among the tribe had been hard won; whether there was any truth it or not, a tribe leader merited the grudging respect of even the more irksome of their people. Hagar was no exception.
It didn't hurt that Lot never solicited her services or that a crooked, quizzical brow lent his face vague shades of long-suffering forbearance. In the right light, he looked almost winsome. And yet for reasons passing understanding, Hagar didn't often see him in the daytime. Their rare meetings only ever seemed to take place at night. She was as much at fault for that as anyone: daytime was for household chores and spending some time with her daughter. Not for work. Not for making nice with the top dog. "Here you go," she said, pouring him a glass of moonshine -- or what passed for moonshine in Raven's books. "Shouldn't you be minding preparations for tonight? You let the urchins run amok, you know they'll only get you in trouble with the others."
Was it last year there had been a whole affair about some brave Lawu whippersnapper wrecking a Tawa-built effigy? Hagar hadn't understood the would-be totem either, but the urge to lay waste to it had been absent from her repertoire. She did recall that compensation had been owed to the Tawa as a result and that Lot's rep took a hit. If she brought it up, it wasn't without reason. Tonight's festivities were arleady going to cost her a night's work.