“Not really.” Ehomba used his spear to steady himself on the steeper portions of the descent. “It is true that the land of the Naumkib is dry, but there are many rivers that flow through it to the sea, and springs even along the beach that bring fresh water from distant mountains. The hills behind the village receive rain in the winter and heavy sea fog in the summer, so that there is almost always grass to be found somewhere. There are trees in the ravines and washes, and plenty of game.” Sweat coursing down his face from the exertion of the descent, he paused and nodded at the terrain that lay before them.
“The country of the Naumkib is dry, but much cooler than here until and unless one travels far to the east. This is land that has been tortured.”
They drank their fill and topped off their water bags from springs that bubbled from the base of the ridge. From there until they reached the mountains there was a real chance they would find no more water. The deepest gullies separating the low, rounded, multicolored hills held out the promise of moisture in their depths: The vegetation that grew there was proof enough of that. But it might well lie far below the surface, within reach of ancient roots but not desperate hands. They could not count on supplementing their supplies for many days.
“We’ll need to watch what we eat as well,” Simna commented as they headed off into the rolling, uneven terrain that lay ahead.
“Dry country often yields a surprising amount of food.” Ehomba maintained a steady pace, his face a picture of determination. “Plants that look dead sometimes provide unexpected nourishment, and where there are plants there is at least some game.” He nodded to his left. “We are lucky to have with us a game-catcher supreme.”