“Please.” Having risen to a sitting position, Masurathoo discovered that was as far as his weary body was willing to take him. “I am afraid I must impose upon you both for a brief respite. I have to rest.” When neither of his companions responded, he waved a double-digited hand. “If you must go on, then do so. At the moment, the Grand Nasuth himself could not stir me from this spot.”
Hasa deliberated. “Maybe the Grand Nasuth couldn’t, but I bet if I pushed you back into the river you’d get moving quick enough.”
Masurathoo fluttered both trunks. Emerging from his speaking trunk, his voice sounded like it was still underwater. “I would only commence a slow floating downstream. My strength is fled. I must rest.”
Espying a comfortable cluster of soft-stemmed seglet basidiocarps, Jemunu-jah sat down in the middle of the chubby, bulging fungi. A number of the taut fruiting bodies burst beneath the weight of his angular backside. Instantly knocked down and washed away by the rain, the prematurely released spores were condemned not to reproduce but only to serve as food for hungry scavengers.
“It do no harm to camp ahead of schedule for a change. Fight against giimatasa has made me hungry early.”
“‘Hungry early,’ eh?” Hasa did not move to join them. “Sounds like an itinerant musician.” He indicated the water that was flowing slowly past in front of them. “Camping by a river’s not a real good idea. While it’s full of good things to eat, it’s also full of things that want to eat you.”
“Ordinarily I agree with you.” Jemunu-jah was setting out his gear. “But this place of water is safe because giimatasa is here. Its presence keeps other meat eaters away.”