Masurathoo touched the pistol slung at his hip. “I must say, with the three of us working together I do not think it would be too very difficult to burn out the interior of a log and fashion a crude but serviceable dugout.”
“Why don’t you try digging out some sense?”
While the human slipped out of his rain cape and began to fold and pack it for carrying, Jemunu-jah commenced an examination of his own gear to ensure that all was secure. He did not bother to check whether any of it was capable of withstanding the proposed crossing. He didn’t need to. The first prerequisite of anything imported for use outside a building on Fluva was that it had to be waterproof.
Masurathoo watched these preparations with increasing apprehension. “Surely, my friends, you are not suggesting that we swim across this potentially deadly watercourse?”
“Nope.” Hasa efficiently stowed his folded rain cape in a storage pouch at his belt. “We’re not suggesting. We’re doing.” He looked back at the reluctant Deyzara. “Same rules apply as always. Come with us or stay here.” The by now familiar humorless smile returned. “I’m sure you can make yourself a dugout or a raft or something in a few days.” He glanced up into the trees. “Plenty of building material to work with. So long as you don’t become something’s lunch in the meantime.” Having expended himself of that less than useful advice, he started down, using branches and vines to descend toward the waterway. Disdaining the vines, Jemunu-jah simply used his long arms to lower himself from one branch to the next.