Still holding one of his two pistols, Hasa had moved to stand close to Jemunu-jah. He did not offer the taller Sakuntala a hand up. Reaching over his head, Jemunu-jah grasped a small branch with both hands and pulled himself erect. Together they stared at the place where the maccaluca had been sucked down.
“That’s a new one on me.” The human spoke as if he had just been presented with a holiday greeting vit. “The maccaluca I recognize. What was the thing that got it?”
“Vuniwai. Only third one I ever seen myself. They not common.”
The prospector spit anew, this time into the water. “Glad to hear it.” He turned. “If I had a hundred credits for every narrow call I’ve had in my life, I’d be retired now.”
Jemunu-jah took a step in the human’s wake, then halted. His sharp eyes searched the surrounding varzea. “Wait. Where is the Deyzara?”
Hasa halted, his brow creasing. “You’re right. Two-trunks has up and gone missing. Did the macca get him?”
“I don’t think so. If it did, I not see it.” Bending, he began to scan the water. When he finally straightened, it was to pick a spherical bowai fruit from its supportive basket of glasslike fronds and toss it into the shadowed surface.
It landed next to what appeared to be a particularly robust pink stick. The stick promptly surfaced, followed by the thoroughly waterlogged Deyzara. Having rolled into the water to escape the maccaluca’s attack, Masurathoo had remained there completely submerged, breathing through his trunk.
The Deyzara was trying to look in every direction at once as he swam back to the semisubmerged branch where his two companions waited. “Is it gone?”