Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [30]
As was to be expected, all manner of marsh dwellers sought out the unique opportunities created by dry land, whose highest point rose less than a foot above the water. Birds nested in every one of the small-boled trees, and water-loving lizards and terrapins came ashore to lay their eggs. Boomerang-headed diplocauls kept their young close to shore for protection while on the far side of the little island juvenile black caimans and phytosaurs slumbered on, indifferent to their bipedal mammalian visitors.
Night brought with it a cacophony of insect and amphibian songs, far fewer mosquitoes than feared, and still no horses.
“There are meat-eaters here.” Simna lay on his back on the sandy soil, listening to the nocturnal symphony and watching the stars through the clouds that had begun to gather above the marsh. “We haven’t seen any really big ones, but with this much game there would have to be some around.”
“You’d think so.” Nearby, the black litah dug his bloodied muzzle deep into the still warm belly of the young water buffalo he had killed. Its eyes were closed, its fins stilled. “Easy meat.”
“That is one thing about Ahlitah.” Ehomba rested nearby, his hands forming a pillow beneath his braided blond hair. “He sleeps lightly and would wake us if any danger came near.”
“Hoy, I’m not worried about being trampled in my sleep. Bitten maybe, but not trampled.” Simna turned away from his friend, onto his side, struggling to find the most comfortable position. “I’m even beginning to think that our only concern here might be the tall tales of one crazy old ape, instead of crazy horses.”
“He did not seem to me to be mad. A little senile perhaps, but not mad.”
“I don’t care, so long as we make it safely through this stinking slough.” A sharp report punctuated the smaller man’s words as he slapped at a marauding hungry bug. His swordsman’s instincts and reactions served him well: His clothes were already covered with the splattered trophies of his many mini conquests.
Their slumber was not disturbed, and they slept better than they had any right to expect. Save for the unavoidable bites of night-flying insects that prudently waited until Simna was unconscious before striking, they emerged unscathed from their fine rest.
Rising last, the swordsman stretched and yawned. For sheer degree of fetidness, his untreated morning breath matched any odor rising from the surrounding bog. That was soon mended by a leisurely breakfast of dried meat, fruit, and tepid tea.
Throughout the meal Ehomba repeatedly scanned the reed-wracked horizons, occasionally urging his friends to hurry. Ahlitah was naturally slow to wake, while Simna was clearly relishing the opportunity to dine on dry land.
“Those wise old women and men of your tribe seem to have filled your pack with all manner of useful potions and powders.” The swordsman gestured with a strip of dried beef. “Didn’t they give you anything to make you relax?”
Ehomba’s black eyes tried to penetrate the froth of surrounding vegetation. “I do not think any such elixir exists. If it did, I promise you I would take it.” He glanced back at his friend. “I know I worry too much, Simna. And when I am not worrying about things I should be worrying about, I find myself worrying about things I should not be worrying about.”
“Hoy now, that makes you a bit of a worrier, wouldn’t you say?” The swordsman tore off a strip of dark brown, white-edged, fibrous protein.
“Yes,” the herdsman agreed. “Or perhaps I am just exceedingly conscientious.”
“I know another word for that.” His friend gestured with the remaining piece of jerked meat. “It’s ‘fool.’”
“That may be.” Ehomba did not dispute the other man’s definition. “Certainly it is one reason why I am here, patiently tolerating your prattle and the grunts of that cat, instead of at home lying with my wife and listening to the laughter of my children.”
Simna’s words rattled around a mouthful of meat that required more mastication