They looked out for one another. Not because they wanted to, not because friendship had suddenly bloomed among them, but because if they weren’t careful and alert, other things might. So Hasa brushed red dust that was actually emukawa hyphae from Masurathoo’s sloping shoulders, Jemunu-jah picked needle-rooted bohlaka seedlings from Hasa’s bald pate before they could take root, and Masurathoo delicately and somewhat tentatively groomed the fur on the Sakuntala’s back in search of arthropoidal flyers who sought to lay their eggs therein. For once, Jemunu-jah saw an advantage in not sporting fur. It was impossible for a bug to hide itself and its parasitic intentions on the Deyzara’s or the human’s bare skin. The natural oils in Jemunu-jah’s fur gave him some protection from the vermin that during the dry season and these isolated episodes of sunshine would otherwise try to set up housekeeping for their offspring inside his body.
It was tempting, particularly for Hasa and Masurathoo, to keep moving while the sun was shining. Every time they considered doing so, something within range of their sight or hearing died or screamed. It was as if the Viisiiviisii had gone momentarily mad, as if the clock of life had suddenly decided to run forward at triple speed. Step out of their place of shelter and concealment and there was no telling how many or what kind of lurking killers might leap upon them.
Not all were leapers or flyers. As the morning wore on and the clouds finally began to gather themselves once more, the sharp-eyed Jemunu-jah pointed to a branch in the tree opposite theirs. The branch hung low over the water, but not so low that they wouldn’t have passed close to it while resuming their way northeastward.