“Yeah, it’s gone.” Hasa’s eyes suddenly widened. Crouching, he reached for his side arm. “There’s another—right behind you!”
Letting out a hysterical hoot, Masurathoo spun wildly, kicking up water in every direction. When he finally calmed down some, he saw there was nothing behind him but a small taleki making its brightly patterned ponderous way across a supportive line of dink molds. Chortling loudly, the human turned away and strode back to the gap he had been contemplating crossing moments earlier. Suffering from a momentary surge of compassion, Jemunu-jah reached down to help the saturated two-trunks back up onto the branch. Every one of the six fingers on his left hand was needed to keep his grasp from slipping.
“Why did Hasa he say there was maccaluca there?” he wondered aloud.
Masurathoo started to run part of his wrappings through two strong digits to strain water from the fabric. Abruptly aware of the futility of trying to do so while standing in the midst of rain that hardly ever ceased, he gave up and let the limp material fall from his hand. It slapped wet and heavy against his leg.
“Some humans, if the wretched truth must be told, find the most extraordinary things a source of great personal amusement. Not excluding inducing terror in others.”
Both turned to regard their muscular, insular companion as he easily jumped the watery gap. Despite Masurathoo’s silent wish, the vuniwai did not erupt from the water a second time to swallow the Deyzara’s tormentor. Sputtering water from both trunks, he resignedly started to follow.