Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [29]
“Then you and the litah have something in common,” the herdsman pointed out. “He feels the same way about people.”
The marshland might have been a paradise if not for the mosquitoes and black flies and no-see-ums. To his companions’ surprise, Simna voiced little in the way of complaint. When a curious Ehomba finally inquired as to the reason for his uncharacteristic stoicism, the swordsman explained that based on the insect life they had encounterd on shore, he had expected it to be much worse out in the middle of the slough.
“Birds and frogs.” Ehomba’s pole rose and dipped steadily, rhythmically, as he ignored the rushes and reeds that brushed against his arms and torso. “They keep the population of small biting things down.” He watched as a pair of lilac-breasted rollers went bulleting through the bushes off to their left. “If not for such as them, we would have no blood left by the time we reached the other side of this quagmire.”
Simna nodded, then frowned as he glanced down at the litah dozing peacefully in the middle of the boat. “For once I envy you your black fur.”
A single tawny eye popped open halfway. “Don’t. It’s hot, and I still get bitten on both ends if not in between.”
Ehomba tilted back his head to watch a flock of a hundred or more turquoise flamingos glide past overhead, their coloration rendering them almost invisible against the sky. Unlike much of what he was seeing and hearing, they were a familiar bird. They acquired their brilliant sky hue, he knew, as a consequence of eating the bright blue shrimp that thrived in warm, shallow lakes.
Disturbed by their passing, a covey of will-o’-the-wisps broke cover and drifted off in all directions, their ghostly white phosphorescence difficult to track in the bright light of day. A herd of sitatunga went splashing past, their splayed feet allowing the downsized antelope to walk on a surface of lily pads, flowering hyacinth, and other water plants. Capybara gamboled in the tall grass, and the guttural honking of hippos, like a convocation of fat men enjoying a good joke, reverberated in the distance.
Yellow-and-gray-spotted coats dripping, giant ground sloths shuffled lugubriously through the water, their long prehensile tongues curling around and snapping off the succulent buds of flowering plants. Web-footed wombats competed for living space with families of pink-nosed nutria. The marshland was a fertile and thriving place, catalyzed with life large and small.
But no horses, mentally unbalanced or otherwise. Not yet.
“Maybe old Red-hair was right and wrong.” Simna poled a little faster, forcing Ehomba to increase his own efforts to keep up. “Maybe there are a few crazy horses living in here, but they can’t be everywhere at once. In a swamp this big they could easily overlook us.” He paused briefly to wipe perspiration from his brow. The interior of the marshland was not particularly hot, but the humidity was as bad as one would expect.
“It is possible.” The herdsman was scanning their immediate surroundings. All around the boat there was motion, and noise, and small splashings, but no sign of the equine impediment the ape had warned them against. “If this morass is as extensive as he said, then we certainly have a chance to slip across unnoticed. It is not as if we represent the forerunners of a noisy, invading army.”
“That’s right.” The farther they traveled without confrontation, the more confident Simna allowed himself to feel. “There’s just the three of us in this little boat. It has no profile to speak of, and neither do we.”
“We will try to find some land to camp on tonight. If not, we will have to sleep in the boat.”
Simna grimaced. “Better a hard dry bed than a soft wet one. I know—in my time I’ve had to sleep in both.”
It was not exactly a rocky pinnacle thrusting its head above the surrounding reeds, but the accumulation of dirt had small trees with trunks of real wood growing from it and soil dry enough to suit the swordsman. Ehomba was especially appreciative of the discovery. The damp climate was harder on him than on his companions,