Arj pauses in the act of pulling a "log" into place, his head held to one side. "Did I say something wrong?" He has no idea what sort of places he's treading... though Jo's words do translate in his head to that way Father used to talk about anyone who wasn't a Desert.

"There are ten of us," he says. "I mean ten species. 'Ten lands and ten kiarrs' he adds, recalling the cub's story." He counts them out on his claws. "Deserts... that's what I am... Forests, Mountains, Polars, Waters, Airs, Savannahs, Grasslands, Rainforests, and... Caves, that's the last one. But we're all still kiarrs." He sits down and suddenly feels very small. "I've not met many people who weren't Deserts, though. Where we lived, it was a little... cut off."