Lance laughed at Sefton's tone of voice. He couldn't help it; maybe it was inappropriate, maybe it was dickish, but godsdammit, it was funny. He turned about on his heel so he could face Sefton and walk backward (easily dodging stones and pebbles with all the ease and grace of a man who was either psychic, poker-faced or simply knew the trail just that well).

"It's true," he said, his smile smaller now, part chagrined and part genuinely amused. "Most books here, unless they came in from the Outside, are in the mothertongue. Books that originated from here don't go beyond the borders, so there's no market for having them translated." Then he threw Sefton his bone. "But there has been one or two immigrant scientists who have translated books into English over the years. I don't know if any of them wrote anything on mineral beings, but we can look."