"It must be done, woman." Solomon Hawk stared at his wife. His eyes were unrelenting. He sat across from her in a patch of sunlight, still and quiet as a lizard on a sun-warmed stone. The old, gray-haired woman sat rocking in her chair. Her eyes were closed. Her long braids touched the arms of the chair. Lianna opened her eyes slowly and they sought those of her husband. She, like him, was weathered and withered by time and sun and a life lived under the sky. She shook her head in denial. "He is our son," she said simply. "Once I called him my son. But not now, not anymore."