C.J. Henderson brings us a second story set on the world of
Byanntia, this time focusing on ex-Chief Bollatu of the Kuzzi. —
ed. N.E. Lilly  “The tragedy of age is not that one is old, but
that one is young.”—Oscar Wilde  Bollatu stood at the water’s
edge, staring out toward the horizon. The sun had just begun to
shatter its edge, spilling across the vast Northern Ocean of
Byanntia. Dawn—not the best time to push out in search of the
great fish. But then, that had only been an excuse, anyway.
They voted nay, thought the old chief. All of them.  Bending his
back, the Kuzzi warrior threw his still‑powerful limbs into the
job of sliding his hunter’s skiff across the hard‑packed blue
sand and into the water beyond. He reached the lapping waves by
instinct, his eyes not seeing the ocean before him, his
conscious mind not actually concerned with the hunt. Throwing
himself into the moving boat with accustomed ease, Bollatu
landed in the center lightly, managing the maneuver without
wetting any of his fur.  What did