Any war is made up of a horde of personal tragedies--but the greater picture is the tragedy of the death of a way of life. For a way of life--good, bad, or indifferent--exists because it is dearly loved....
her day. Anketam got his fishing gear together, including a lunch that Memi had packed for him, and gone over to pick up Blejjo.
Blejjo was the oldest man in the village. Some said he was over a hundred, but Blejjo himself only admitted to eighty. He'd been retired a long time back, and his only duties now were little odd jobs that were easy enough, even for an old man. Not that there was anything feeble about old Blejjo; he still looked and acted spry enough.
He was sitting on his front porch, talking to young Basom, when Anketam came up.
The old man grinned. "Hello, Ank. You figure on getting a few more fish today?"
"Why not? The river's full of 'em. Come along."
"Don't see why not," said Blejjo. "What do you think, Basom?"
The younger man smiled and shook his head. "I'll stay around home, I think. I'm too lazy today to go to all that effort."
"Too lazy to loaf," said Blejjo, laughing. "That's as lazy as I ever heard."