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other, quickly wriggling their way down to ground level. In a few minutes they reached the edge of tangled underbrush, and stared out at open slopes leading to the valley and forests beyond. This traverse was always dangerous, the place where they were most easily seen. Maki instructed the others, “Stay right behind me, and do exactly as I do. Don’t stop until we reach the trees.”
    They nodded gravely at him, so he knew they understood the danger. Maki hunched forward to keep a low profile and moved off at a dog trot, pacing himself so Han and Dorald could keep up and he could be comfortable, for although he had considerably more speed than his companions he did not have their endurance. Under no circumstances could he allow them to see a weakness of any kind in him.
    The jog was downhill at first, exhilarating in morning cold, then leveling out on a grassy plain leading to cultivated fields ready for harvest. The Hinchai fields were full of food, and he heard Dorald’s stomach growl at the sight. Better to stop a moment and satisfy the Tenanken’s hunger than to risk a foul temper later in the morning. Maki angled towards the field of thick, tall stalks where they could hide while eating. From there it was only a short sprint to the trees. In a moment they were surrounded by food hanging in silken pods attached to thick, yellow stalks. Vegetables crunched and popped as strong jaws of Tenanken hunters flexed. As they ate, Maki crouched alertly at the edge of the field, his eating style dainty compared to the others. Dorald’s loud belch was a signal to leave, and Maki led them across a plowed field, vaulting a short, wire fence which the others scrambled over clumsily, and then they were hidden from view in the trees.
    They kept to the trees all day, climbing out of the valley to a high hill beyond which was solid forest without the stench of Hinchai, an untouched land as in The Memories. Near dusk they came to a hill thick with trees and scattered outcroppings of pegmatite, where they found a small cave littered with tiny bones from which the marrow had been removed. Maki sat at the cave entrance for several minutes, eyes closed, casting a vision of caverns filled with Tenanken and then of a hunter posing with a long spear and a sling, an idealized portrait of himself. There was nothing in return, no gentle, instinctive tuggings to point him in a particular direction. Dorald and Han watched him quietly until he opened his eyes.
    “It appears they’ve moved on. I’m sure their caves were near here.”
    “I’m hungry again,” said Dorald.
    “Of course you are,” said Maki. They hunted until darkness, taking two bushy-tailed tree climbers, partially cooking them over a tiny fire started with Maki’s fire-stones and tinder soaked in sap.
    In the morning, after a fitful night crammed together in the little cave, all of them were hungry. Dorald was ravenous.
    They followed the forest for hours, watching for game and seeing none, searching each cave for signs of habitation. Privately, Maki worried about the move of Hidaig’s band, small in numbers, but proud and fierce. If they were still around, a welcome would have been sent by now, for Maki’s tall, slender form was easily recognizable at large distances. Why had they moved on?
    A few minutes later, Maki had his answer.
    Even Han’s stomach was grumbling, now, and Dorald had ceased complaining, eyes glinting dangerously. It was a bad sign; they had to find game soon, or the stupid one would go completely mad, attacking anything or anyone around him. Maki felt both fear and desperation, searching for movement in the trees, but even the birds were still. And then, faintly at first, he heard a sound: grinding, then rapid, clanging beats close together, then again the grinding. It was beyond the trees, and he turned towards it, the others dumbly following. The sound grew louder and louder until Dorald and Han both stopped, eyes wide, and Maki knew he must go on