Though the human was true to his word and both he and Jemunu-jah passed less than an arm’s length from the quietly feeding predator, Masurathoo still gave it as wide a berth as the surrounding vegetation would allow. The darter was an unlovely sight, but not as gruesome as the slowly liquefying remains of the pekawa. Masurathoo’s mind conjured up an unwanted image of himself similarly darted and dissolving, his muscles and organs sickeningly subsiding into an easily ingestible lump of red ooze while he was still alive, his—
He forced himself to concentrate on the path ahead, aware more than ever how much he was compelled to rely on his companions to warn him of or protect him from such barely detectable dangers. Every rustle of leaves, every whisper of tiny legs tiptoeing across protruding shelf fungi, every still of mold, portended in his mind something horrific, indescribable, and lethal. How he longed for his clean, antiseptic office back in Taulau! If his friends and family could see him now, they would simultaneously hoot at his bedraggled appearance and bemoan his unhygienic surroundings.
Self-pity, he knew, would not get him out of the Viisiiviisii. It slew the sympathetic as callously as the exploiter. Momentarily absorbed in such thoughts and temporarily distracted as rain began to fall again, he nearly tripped over the slow-moving creature that had emerged in front of him.
His startled whoop turned Hasa right around and brought Jemunu-jah up fast from behind. When they saw what had sent Masurathoo fearfully toppling backward into the brush, they exchanged a laugh. Or at least, Jemunu-jah laughed, in the manner of his people. The human’s corresponding loud verbalization suggested contempt as much as amusement.