The Uprights, page 39
“She cannot use our words. But Krau can use her words.”
Ooma catches her breath. Stops cutting. Drops her blade. She has thought of everything, but she didn’t think of that.
“Ooma, what are you doing? You can’t stop now. Maybe she’s asleep. Maybe she won’t tell Krau.”
“I’m sorry. You frightened me.”
“Listen, Ooma. When I’m free, I will tell her not to say anything. She has to die. But it doesn’t mean she wants me or you to die, as well.”
“It’s no good. I’m going back to the shelter. I didn’t think of the big one. I was just upset about you. You are like us. Like me. I wanted you to have your freedom.”
“Wait. Wait. You nearly cut the cords. I can feel. They’re loose.”
“It’s too late. I can’t find my blade now. It fell on the ground and I can’t see it.”
“It’s all right, Ooma. Don’t go. I’ve just thought of something else. You’re safe.”
“How can I be?”
“If it’s too dark for you to see your blade, then it’s too dark for the big one to see your face. See who you are.”
“Yes, it is dark. The moon is still thin.”
“That’s what I told you. She can’t see you. Even if Krau asks her she will have nothing to say.”
“No. No. That’s not good enough. She might not be able to see, but she can hear.”
“I’m not sure. Uprights can hear in the dark. But she’s a big one. Maybe their ears work differently.”
“It’s too late for your words now, Wuhn. I have to leave you. I’m sorry.”
“Wait. Please wait. I will think of something.”
“No. I’m going. I’ll try and help after Krau has finished with you. That’s all I can do. He’ll let me do that.”
“No. No. It’ll be all right. I know it will be.”
“Be strong, Wuhn.”
Then there is silence. That is apart from the sound of receding footsteps. The calls of the forest. And the distant crying of a young one wanting to be fed.
Wuhn feels lonely and sad. Even worse than she did before. Why did Ooma come to help her? Why did she have tell her about the big one? What will Krau do when he sees the cord has been cut?
As soon as one infant stops crying, another starts. Then another. Does this go on all night? While she thinks about that and how it will be for her, if and when she is a mother, she is surprised by something – perhaps nothing – moving. Far away. In the distance. Coming nearer. A shadow – just a shadow – coming towards her from the side. No, more than a shadow she catches out of the corner of an eye. Other things. Not what she can see but what she can hear. The shuffle of feet on grass. The sigh of controlled breathing. The rub of skin against skin. And then she senses – rather than anything else – a figure in front of her. Has her friend changed her mind? Has she come back? Is she going to finish cutting the cord?
“Ooma, is that you?”
There’s no reply. Not even a sshh to keep her quiet.
“Why don’t you speak to me?”
Still no response.
“It is you, isn’t it?”
The moment she asks this question, she knows the answer. The shadowy shape in front of her is so much taller and broader than Ooma. Taller and broader than any female.
She’s sure it would have been all right if Ooma had stayed a breath or two more and cut the last of the cords. But there was something she didn’t understand at the time and because of that, she couldn’t say anything. She only knows now and it’s too late. Krau has come back.
The figure comes ever closer, as if trying to make sure he is approaching the female upright and not the female big one. So close, he cannot avoid breathing in her face. He doesn’t say anything and nor does he touch her. She thought it was Krau. But it can’t be: he wouldn’t have needed to keep silent. He would have called out her name in derision. Laughed at her helplessness. Grabbed her body. But this male does none of these things.
It wouldn’t have mattered if the big one had heard her and Ooma talking. Krau can understand her words, but she doesn’t understand theirs. Ooma would have been safe.
Still he doesn’t talk, say who he is or what he is going to do. He doesn’t need to. He is so close she can smell him. She knows the smell.
What could the big one have said to Krau? Nothing. She hadn’t been able to see anything, because it was too dark. She hadn’t been able to hear anything, or if she did she couldn’t understand any of the words. What Ooma did and said would never be known to Krau.
Yes, she’s knows the smell.
*****
The going is easy and both walk quickly. Soon, with increasing confidence, they break into a run – jump over obstacles – leap through the air – swing round bends, only steadying themselves, as Wuhn might have done, on those larger boulders and trees that come to hand. Not once does either of them pause for breath or even slow down to make sure they don’t miss their step. They haven’t yet had their morning root and water, but Dhi doesn’t want to stop while they are moving like this.
They don’t stop, but raising their voices – no, shouting at each other – allows them to communicate. They are making such good progress, they are both very excited. And as uprights, such excitement has to be shared.
“I feel like a bird, Dhi.”
“So do I.”
“No. I really mean it. I’m a bird. Look at me.”
“Flap your arms then.”
“Do you think that would really make me fly?
“Try it.”
Mahr does as Dhi suggests and immediately falls over. There’s a crunching sound of flesh striking rock, followed by a cry of pain.
Dhi comes to a halt, for although he didn’t see what happened behind him, he knows Mahr is as strong and agile as himself and never complains without reason. He sounds badly hurt. It grieves him to go back when Wuhn is ahead, but he is concerned. Not just because hunters are trained to look after workers, but because if it wasn’t for him, Mahr would be safely foraging for food in their woods. And not be here with him, risking his life looking for Wuhn. And that is what he is doing, because if he has broken a leg, he will have to kill him. And he doesn’t want to do that. He certainly doesn’t want to do that.
But he needn’t have worried. When he gets to the place where the other stumbled, Mahr has regained his feet and is laughing.
“I’m all right, Dhi. I knocked my knee. Cut my arm. But, look, I can stand. I can walk, as well. Maybe I can run.”
“Good. Can you fly?”
“No. I can’t fly.”
“We stop now. Look, the sun is just showing itself above the top of that hill.”
“I would like some water.”
“Mahr, you rest here. Give me your bag. I’ll bring you some water. Some food as well.”
“I should be doing this for you, Dhi.”
“This time, I will do it.”
And in talking like this, both know that no other hunter and worker would have spoken to each other like this.
Dhi doesn’t go for long, but when he returns, he carries two bags of water and some things to eat. Mahr knows Dhi can hunt big beasts and fight lions as well as any hunter. Now he knows Dhi can scavenge among the trees and dig in the earth as well as any worker. What can’t Dhi do? While they eat and drink, they talk. Not about roots and berries though. Other things are so much more interesting.
“Dhi, I know I couldn’t do it. And I fell. But I’m a worker. What about you? If you flapped your arms, do you think you could fly?”
“No upright can fly. We aren’t birds.”
“I know that. But why is it so easy for our legs when we go downhill? Why can we jump over big cracks in the rocks? Even leap in the air if we have to. Small beasts can’t do that. Nor can snakes. Or fish. Many beasts can’t do what we can do.”
Dhi returns Mahr’s gaze, but his expression shows he wants to talk about something else. Something he has been pondering for a while.
“Can you see the sun over there, Mahr? Is he telling you anything?”
“No. The sun is the sun. That’s all. But don’t you think we are a bit like birds? We can’t fly as high as them. But we are more like them than any beast.”
“Don’t keep talking about birds, Mahr. I want you to think about the sun. What he is saying to us.”
“You are talking like Tahk, now. I don’t know. I don’t understand. But you don’t understand something else. Why our bodies get heavy when we go uphill. And why they get light, going downhill.”
“Listen to me.”
“Talk about the sun, Dhi. I will listen. But you listen to me as well.”
“All right. First, the sun. Where is it?”
“You’ve already asked me that. It’s where it always is.”
“No. No. That’s where you’re wrong.”
“You will have to explain what you mean. But I must explain what I’m thinking too. We get lighter when we go downhill. You agree to that, don’t you? If the path gets steeper and steeper. Then we would get lighter and lighter.”
“I suppose so. What I am saying to you is this. Where the sun is at dawn. Or at dusk also, depends on where you are. And how you are standing. Not just where the sun is.”
“You’re not making sense, Dhi. The sun is always in the sky. But I want to finish. If we get lighter and lighter, then we can become so light, we can fly. Isn’t that right?”
“You’re right. Of course the sun is in the sky. But it isn’t always in the same place in the sky, is it?”
“No, the sun walks across the sky. We all know that. From one hill to another. But have you heard me? If we are so light we can fly, then we are birds. It is possible. I know. What about being on a path that goes straight down? You can’t walk on that. You would fly.”
“No. No. Uprights can’t fly. Uprights will never fly. However light they are. However steep their path.”
“Dhi, you are nearly as knowing as Tahk, but you don’t understand about birds.”
*****
She’s in a shallow creek that, at the time of the rains, must fill with water and flow into the lake. Only now it’s dry and rocky and overhung with foliage. She might change her mind, but for the moment, she decides to keep as still as possible. Not move an aching limb. And certainly not respond. Do the hunters think she has the head of beast to know no better than answer them – just because they keep calling her name?
“Wuhn, Wuhn,Wuhn,” they shout, sometimes from near and sometimes afar, always loudly, but never harshly, as if to imply that she has done nothing wrong and need fear no punishment. Only she knows Krau better. He planned to mate with her and he has been denied. If she responds to any of those now forcing their way through the undergrowth, she will still have to mate with Krau. Only afterwards, as a punishment, she will be given to his hunters. Not when she has recovered, nor even had a chance to drink, but straightaway. And it’ll be one after another, until she is dead. So she will keep still and not say anything. Soon it will be dark and then they will leave.
But she is puzzled. Not why Krau wants to stop her telling her family about his. But why he wants to mate with her. When he already has so many.
It was such a pity Ooma stopped untying her. If only her friend had finished what she had come to do, she would have been able to slip away without waking any of the hunters. Then all this would have been avoided. All the racing through the trees. All the cuts to her feet and hands. All the bruises to her body. She would have gone so far before Krau came for her that he wouldn’t have bothered trying to find her. But now he knows she must be close and won’t give up. But she can’t blame poor Ooma. She risked her life to come to the tree. Might even now be dead. Why didn’t she tell her quickly enough that the big one next to her wouldn’t have been able to tell Krau anything. But she didn’t and Ooma went away.
Then she remembers something Ooma told her about Krau and his family. He feeds well – they all feed well – and in spite of his age, he is still strong enough to mate with all the females. Well not the older ones any more, but without exception, the younger ones. And the females’ bellies nearly always swell. The problem isn’t that. It’s something else. Many of the infants come into their world too small to live. Or, if they are big enough to survive, they are born with things wrong with them and have to be strangled. Whatever Krau does, he cannot father enough infants to replace the older uprights who go to their long rest. Krau has food and females and everything he wants, only his family is getting smaller. So maybe he thinks that she, a female from another family, would do better than the others. Of course, not on her own, but even if she only gives Krau four or five healthy infants to repay all his efforts, it would make a difference. Krau wants her to stay to keep his family from dying out. So she won’t be ill-treated, after all. Perhaps, she ought to go back with his hunters before the coming darkness sends them away.
As it was, her escape from the camp was neither silent nor rapid and that meant many of the hunters were awoken from their sleep. At first, she was pleased she could hear cries of alarm and the noise of hunters stumbling about in the dark, trying to work out what was happening and decide what to do. If any had been awake enough, they would have no difficulty in being able to grab her as she ran past. Was that what she wanted anyway? She wasn’t sure at the time and now is even less sure. The fact is she didn’t call out to any of them and she certainly didn’t deliberately fall into their arms. But it’s not too late. She can hear two talking to each other and they are so near, she can make out every word.
Just as she is struggling with her decision, a hand reaches across and rests on her bare thigh. It’s a heavy hand. A callused hand. The hand of the runaway with the blemish on his forehead. Is he reminding her he is by her side, hiding from the hunters too? Prompting her not to make any noise, or call out for help. Telling her not to even think about going back. But what could he do to her? The hunters above their heads are so near they could kill him before he put his hands to her throat. But then she would be with Krau and not Dhi, and she is still not sure that is what she wants. The more she thinks about it, the more she is inclined to trust Guhgral. When he came to the tree and untied her, he promised not to hurt her: so far he has kept his word. But he promised other things as well. To take her away from the camp in the trees and return to the forest by their lake. That is why she didn’t scream out for help. He is taking her away from Krau and his hunters, their fire, their eating of big ones. Away from their problem with deformed infants and having a failing family. Back to the lake. Their lake. Her lake. And he promised something else and that was the most persuasive thing of all. He promised her he knew the way. That is why she didn’t scream when he was untying her. Why she isn’t going to scream now.
*****
For the first time since Mahr picked himself up after his fall, Dhi comes to a halt. He can no longer see the lake, even though he believes they are much nearer to it than when they set out. Not that he is overly concerned about losing sight of it, because he knows strange things happen when you get close to that which you seek. But something does worry him. If it’s not the disappearance of the lake, is it because the track they are following has now become two, three, or even in places, four? Or that the trees appear to be getting so close together and so tall? Much taller than he has ever seen before. He needs to stop a while and try and work things out.
“Mahr, look at these footprints.”
“What do you want me to see?”
“I’m not sure. They’re different.”
“In what way? What is worrying you?”
“The stones are more disturbed. This track is wider. But there are other tracks over there.”
“What does it mean?”
“Be quiet. I’m thinking.”
“Is this the way Wuhn came? Are we still following her?”
“It’s difficult to tell now. Many feet have been here. Not just on the main track. On the other ones as well. The ones that go into the trees.”
“I can see now. Where do we go?”
“Stop talking, Mahr. Let me look.”
Dhi gets down to examine the ground in more detail. Sometimes he lowers his head even further, puts his nose to the stones and smells them. Then he gets up. Looks around him. Walks in circles, pulling small branches and leaves nearer to his face. Then he does it all over again. When he finishes, he sits on a bank and shuts his eyes.
“What is it, Dhi?”
“I don’t understand. Many feet have walked along here and into the trees. Footprints go in all directions. I can no longer tell which are Wuhn’s.”
“What can you tell?”
“There are some small prints going down the track. Downhill. They may be Wuhn’s.”
“And the others?”
“Many are made by uprights. They are the right size and shape. Male footprints.”
Ooma catches her breath. Stops cutting. Drops her blade. She has thought of everything, but she didn’t think of that.
“Ooma, what are you doing? You can’t stop now. Maybe she’s asleep. Maybe she won’t tell Krau.”
“I’m sorry. You frightened me.”
“Listen, Ooma. When I’m free, I will tell her not to say anything. She has to die. But it doesn’t mean she wants me or you to die, as well.”
“It’s no good. I’m going back to the shelter. I didn’t think of the big one. I was just upset about you. You are like us. Like me. I wanted you to have your freedom.”
“Wait. Wait. You nearly cut the cords. I can feel. They’re loose.”
“It’s too late. I can’t find my blade now. It fell on the ground and I can’t see it.”
“It’s all right, Ooma. Don’t go. I’ve just thought of something else. You’re safe.”
“How can I be?”
“If it’s too dark for you to see your blade, then it’s too dark for the big one to see your face. See who you are.”
“Yes, it is dark. The moon is still thin.”
“That’s what I told you. She can’t see you. Even if Krau asks her she will have nothing to say.”
“No. No. That’s not good enough. She might not be able to see, but she can hear.”
“I’m not sure. Uprights can hear in the dark. But she’s a big one. Maybe their ears work differently.”
“It’s too late for your words now, Wuhn. I have to leave you. I’m sorry.”
“Wait. Please wait. I will think of something.”
“No. I’m going. I’ll try and help after Krau has finished with you. That’s all I can do. He’ll let me do that.”
“No. No. It’ll be all right. I know it will be.”
“Be strong, Wuhn.”
Then there is silence. That is apart from the sound of receding footsteps. The calls of the forest. And the distant crying of a young one wanting to be fed.
Wuhn feels lonely and sad. Even worse than she did before. Why did Ooma come to help her? Why did she have tell her about the big one? What will Krau do when he sees the cord has been cut?
As soon as one infant stops crying, another starts. Then another. Does this go on all night? While she thinks about that and how it will be for her, if and when she is a mother, she is surprised by something – perhaps nothing – moving. Far away. In the distance. Coming nearer. A shadow – just a shadow – coming towards her from the side. No, more than a shadow she catches out of the corner of an eye. Other things. Not what she can see but what she can hear. The shuffle of feet on grass. The sigh of controlled breathing. The rub of skin against skin. And then she senses – rather than anything else – a figure in front of her. Has her friend changed her mind? Has she come back? Is she going to finish cutting the cord?
“Ooma, is that you?”
There’s no reply. Not even a sshh to keep her quiet.
“Why don’t you speak to me?”
Still no response.
“It is you, isn’t it?”
The moment she asks this question, she knows the answer. The shadowy shape in front of her is so much taller and broader than Ooma. Taller and broader than any female.
She’s sure it would have been all right if Ooma had stayed a breath or two more and cut the last of the cords. But there was something she didn’t understand at the time and because of that, she couldn’t say anything. She only knows now and it’s too late. Krau has come back.
The figure comes ever closer, as if trying to make sure he is approaching the female upright and not the female big one. So close, he cannot avoid breathing in her face. He doesn’t say anything and nor does he touch her. She thought it was Krau. But it can’t be: he wouldn’t have needed to keep silent. He would have called out her name in derision. Laughed at her helplessness. Grabbed her body. But this male does none of these things.
It wouldn’t have mattered if the big one had heard her and Ooma talking. Krau can understand her words, but she doesn’t understand theirs. Ooma would have been safe.
Still he doesn’t talk, say who he is or what he is going to do. He doesn’t need to. He is so close she can smell him. She knows the smell.
What could the big one have said to Krau? Nothing. She hadn’t been able to see anything, because it was too dark. She hadn’t been able to hear anything, or if she did she couldn’t understand any of the words. What Ooma did and said would never be known to Krau.
Yes, she’s knows the smell.
*****
The going is easy and both walk quickly. Soon, with increasing confidence, they break into a run – jump over obstacles – leap through the air – swing round bends, only steadying themselves, as Wuhn might have done, on those larger boulders and trees that come to hand. Not once does either of them pause for breath or even slow down to make sure they don’t miss their step. They haven’t yet had their morning root and water, but Dhi doesn’t want to stop while they are moving like this.
They don’t stop, but raising their voices – no, shouting at each other – allows them to communicate. They are making such good progress, they are both very excited. And as uprights, such excitement has to be shared.
“I feel like a bird, Dhi.”
“So do I.”
“No. I really mean it. I’m a bird. Look at me.”
“Flap your arms then.”
“Do you think that would really make me fly?
“Try it.”
Mahr does as Dhi suggests and immediately falls over. There’s a crunching sound of flesh striking rock, followed by a cry of pain.
Dhi comes to a halt, for although he didn’t see what happened behind him, he knows Mahr is as strong and agile as himself and never complains without reason. He sounds badly hurt. It grieves him to go back when Wuhn is ahead, but he is concerned. Not just because hunters are trained to look after workers, but because if it wasn’t for him, Mahr would be safely foraging for food in their woods. And not be here with him, risking his life looking for Wuhn. And that is what he is doing, because if he has broken a leg, he will have to kill him. And he doesn’t want to do that. He certainly doesn’t want to do that.
But he needn’t have worried. When he gets to the place where the other stumbled, Mahr has regained his feet and is laughing.
“I’m all right, Dhi. I knocked my knee. Cut my arm. But, look, I can stand. I can walk, as well. Maybe I can run.”
“Good. Can you fly?”
“No. I can’t fly.”
“We stop now. Look, the sun is just showing itself above the top of that hill.”
“I would like some water.”
“Mahr, you rest here. Give me your bag. I’ll bring you some water. Some food as well.”
“I should be doing this for you, Dhi.”
“This time, I will do it.”
And in talking like this, both know that no other hunter and worker would have spoken to each other like this.
Dhi doesn’t go for long, but when he returns, he carries two bags of water and some things to eat. Mahr knows Dhi can hunt big beasts and fight lions as well as any hunter. Now he knows Dhi can scavenge among the trees and dig in the earth as well as any worker. What can’t Dhi do? While they eat and drink, they talk. Not about roots and berries though. Other things are so much more interesting.
“Dhi, I know I couldn’t do it. And I fell. But I’m a worker. What about you? If you flapped your arms, do you think you could fly?”
“No upright can fly. We aren’t birds.”
“I know that. But why is it so easy for our legs when we go downhill? Why can we jump over big cracks in the rocks? Even leap in the air if we have to. Small beasts can’t do that. Nor can snakes. Or fish. Many beasts can’t do what we can do.”
Dhi returns Mahr’s gaze, but his expression shows he wants to talk about something else. Something he has been pondering for a while.
“Can you see the sun over there, Mahr? Is he telling you anything?”
“No. The sun is the sun. That’s all. But don’t you think we are a bit like birds? We can’t fly as high as them. But we are more like them than any beast.”
“Don’t keep talking about birds, Mahr. I want you to think about the sun. What he is saying to us.”
“You are talking like Tahk, now. I don’t know. I don’t understand. But you don’t understand something else. Why our bodies get heavy when we go uphill. And why they get light, going downhill.”
“Listen to me.”
“Talk about the sun, Dhi. I will listen. But you listen to me as well.”
“All right. First, the sun. Where is it?”
“You’ve already asked me that. It’s where it always is.”
“No. No. That’s where you’re wrong.”
“You will have to explain what you mean. But I must explain what I’m thinking too. We get lighter when we go downhill. You agree to that, don’t you? If the path gets steeper and steeper. Then we would get lighter and lighter.”
“I suppose so. What I am saying to you is this. Where the sun is at dawn. Or at dusk also, depends on where you are. And how you are standing. Not just where the sun is.”
“You’re not making sense, Dhi. The sun is always in the sky. But I want to finish. If we get lighter and lighter, then we can become so light, we can fly. Isn’t that right?”
“You’re right. Of course the sun is in the sky. But it isn’t always in the same place in the sky, is it?”
“No, the sun walks across the sky. We all know that. From one hill to another. But have you heard me? If we are so light we can fly, then we are birds. It is possible. I know. What about being on a path that goes straight down? You can’t walk on that. You would fly.”
“No. No. Uprights can’t fly. Uprights will never fly. However light they are. However steep their path.”
“Dhi, you are nearly as knowing as Tahk, but you don’t understand about birds.”
*****
She’s in a shallow creek that, at the time of the rains, must fill with water and flow into the lake. Only now it’s dry and rocky and overhung with foliage. She might change her mind, but for the moment, she decides to keep as still as possible. Not move an aching limb. And certainly not respond. Do the hunters think she has the head of beast to know no better than answer them – just because they keep calling her name?
“Wuhn, Wuhn,Wuhn,” they shout, sometimes from near and sometimes afar, always loudly, but never harshly, as if to imply that she has done nothing wrong and need fear no punishment. Only she knows Krau better. He planned to mate with her and he has been denied. If she responds to any of those now forcing their way through the undergrowth, she will still have to mate with Krau. Only afterwards, as a punishment, she will be given to his hunters. Not when she has recovered, nor even had a chance to drink, but straightaway. And it’ll be one after another, until she is dead. So she will keep still and not say anything. Soon it will be dark and then they will leave.
But she is puzzled. Not why Krau wants to stop her telling her family about his. But why he wants to mate with her. When he already has so many.
It was such a pity Ooma stopped untying her. If only her friend had finished what she had come to do, she would have been able to slip away without waking any of the hunters. Then all this would have been avoided. All the racing through the trees. All the cuts to her feet and hands. All the bruises to her body. She would have gone so far before Krau came for her that he wouldn’t have bothered trying to find her. But now he knows she must be close and won’t give up. But she can’t blame poor Ooma. She risked her life to come to the tree. Might even now be dead. Why didn’t she tell her quickly enough that the big one next to her wouldn’t have been able to tell Krau anything. But she didn’t and Ooma went away.
Then she remembers something Ooma told her about Krau and his family. He feeds well – they all feed well – and in spite of his age, he is still strong enough to mate with all the females. Well not the older ones any more, but without exception, the younger ones. And the females’ bellies nearly always swell. The problem isn’t that. It’s something else. Many of the infants come into their world too small to live. Or, if they are big enough to survive, they are born with things wrong with them and have to be strangled. Whatever Krau does, he cannot father enough infants to replace the older uprights who go to their long rest. Krau has food and females and everything he wants, only his family is getting smaller. So maybe he thinks that she, a female from another family, would do better than the others. Of course, not on her own, but even if she only gives Krau four or five healthy infants to repay all his efforts, it would make a difference. Krau wants her to stay to keep his family from dying out. So she won’t be ill-treated, after all. Perhaps, she ought to go back with his hunters before the coming darkness sends them away.
As it was, her escape from the camp was neither silent nor rapid and that meant many of the hunters were awoken from their sleep. At first, she was pleased she could hear cries of alarm and the noise of hunters stumbling about in the dark, trying to work out what was happening and decide what to do. If any had been awake enough, they would have no difficulty in being able to grab her as she ran past. Was that what she wanted anyway? She wasn’t sure at the time and now is even less sure. The fact is she didn’t call out to any of them and she certainly didn’t deliberately fall into their arms. But it’s not too late. She can hear two talking to each other and they are so near, she can make out every word.
Just as she is struggling with her decision, a hand reaches across and rests on her bare thigh. It’s a heavy hand. A callused hand. The hand of the runaway with the blemish on his forehead. Is he reminding her he is by her side, hiding from the hunters too? Prompting her not to make any noise, or call out for help. Telling her not to even think about going back. But what could he do to her? The hunters above their heads are so near they could kill him before he put his hands to her throat. But then she would be with Krau and not Dhi, and she is still not sure that is what she wants. The more she thinks about it, the more she is inclined to trust Guhgral. When he came to the tree and untied her, he promised not to hurt her: so far he has kept his word. But he promised other things as well. To take her away from the camp in the trees and return to the forest by their lake. That is why she didn’t scream out for help. He is taking her away from Krau and his hunters, their fire, their eating of big ones. Away from their problem with deformed infants and having a failing family. Back to the lake. Their lake. Her lake. And he promised something else and that was the most persuasive thing of all. He promised her he knew the way. That is why she didn’t scream when he was untying her. Why she isn’t going to scream now.
*****
For the first time since Mahr picked himself up after his fall, Dhi comes to a halt. He can no longer see the lake, even though he believes they are much nearer to it than when they set out. Not that he is overly concerned about losing sight of it, because he knows strange things happen when you get close to that which you seek. But something does worry him. If it’s not the disappearance of the lake, is it because the track they are following has now become two, three, or even in places, four? Or that the trees appear to be getting so close together and so tall? Much taller than he has ever seen before. He needs to stop a while and try and work things out.
“Mahr, look at these footprints.”
“What do you want me to see?”
“I’m not sure. They’re different.”
“In what way? What is worrying you?”
“The stones are more disturbed. This track is wider. But there are other tracks over there.”
“What does it mean?”
“Be quiet. I’m thinking.”
“Is this the way Wuhn came? Are we still following her?”
“It’s difficult to tell now. Many feet have been here. Not just on the main track. On the other ones as well. The ones that go into the trees.”
“I can see now. Where do we go?”
“Stop talking, Mahr. Let me look.”
Dhi gets down to examine the ground in more detail. Sometimes he lowers his head even further, puts his nose to the stones and smells them. Then he gets up. Looks around him. Walks in circles, pulling small branches and leaves nearer to his face. Then he does it all over again. When he finishes, he sits on a bank and shuts his eyes.
“What is it, Dhi?”
“I don’t understand. Many feet have walked along here and into the trees. Footprints go in all directions. I can no longer tell which are Wuhn’s.”
“What can you tell?”
“There are some small prints going down the track. Downhill. They may be Wuhn’s.”
“And the others?”
“Many are made by uprights. They are the right size and shape. Male footprints.”
