Sower Sefu & Count Kesi & Capture Koro

Nana set up a pit on Sefu's side and a tempting enemy pit sitting at one seed, seven houses along.

"Sefu," she said. "Capture that far pit. Just you. No counting, no thinking about the take — you say the sow is the whole game, so sow."

Sefu, a little uncertain, scooped up his pit and sowed it the fair way — one seed to each house, all the way along — because that was his art and he trusted it. But he had not counted how many seeds were in his fist, and he had not worked out where the last one would fall, and so his final seed dropped two houses past the pit he'd needed to reach, landing uselessly in an enemy pit it made four — no capture at all.

"A beautiful sow," Nana said mildly. "Even. Fair. One seed to every house. And it captured exactly nothing, because you did not count." Sefu looked at his lovely, wasted move and had the grace to laugh. "The beginning," he admitted, "is not much of a beginning if it doesn't know where it's going."

"Kesi," said Nana, resetting the board. "Your turn. You say the count is what matters. So — count."

Kesi's quick eyes swept the board and she rattled off every number true: this pit holds five, that one two, the far one one, and a five-seed sow from here would land its last seed exactly on that far one and make it two — a capture. She saw the whole thing, perfectly, instantly, in her head. And then she sat there. Because seeing a capture and making one are not the same thing, and a count that nobody acts on is just a very accurate way of watching a chance go by.

"Well?" said Nana. "You've counted it beautifully. The capture is right there in your words. Take it."

And Kesi, flushing a little, realised she couldn't — not by counting. She needed a hand to actually sow the five, and a will to actually reach in and reap. "My count is true," she said slowly, "but true is not the same as done. A number that just sits there captures nothing either."

"Koro," said Nana, resetting once more. "You say the capture is the point, and the other two work for you. Very well. Capture — without them."

Koro reached eagerly for the enemy pit sitting at two, ready to sweep it — and Nana caught her hand. "No, no. You don't grab a pit, child, remember? You land on it. Your last seed must make it two or three. So — which pit do you sow, and how many seeds does it hold, and where does the last one fall?" And Koro, who lived for the sweeping-home and had never much cared for the fiddly parts, found she had no idea. She didn't know which pit to lift (that was Sefu's fair sow), and she didn't know where her last seed would land or what it would make the pit (that was Kesi's count). Her beloved capture, without the sow beneath it and the count guiding it, was just a hand hovering greedily over seeds she had no lawful way to take.

That was the moment it happened for all three at once — the click of it. Sefu couldn't capture without counting. Kesi couldn't capture without sowing and reaping. Koro couldn't capture without either. So the three of them, laughing now, did it together: Kesi read the board and named the five-seed pit whose last seed would land true; Sefu lifted that pit and sowed it the fair way, one to each house, straight and even; and as the last seed fell — into the far pit, making it three — Koro swept it home. A capture. A real one. And not one of them had made it alone.