True, the Commonwealth was responsible insofar as it was its shortsighted decision that had allowed the emigration hundreds of years ago from Tharce IV to Fluva. But that had nothing to do with her. She wasn’t hundreds of years old. Neither, she reflected, were the Sakuntala who were presently on the rampage, but she knew that argument was useless. It had been tried decades ago and had had no moderating effect on the determined predecessors of the extremists who were behind the current uprising.
The steady caterwauling of Deyzara broodlings overrode the usual forest sounds. The massed squealing did nothing to discourage the active predators who had gathered in large numbers in the water beneath the port. Occasionally, she had been told, they would pick off the isolated Deyzara who lost his footing and fell from a walkway or port structure. Few lingered to mourn such losses. The collective communal anguish was too great, too extensive, to allow for much in the way of individual sorrowing.
Deyzara body odor was strong enough to be detected even through the rain. With so many crowded together so closely, the stench bordered on the overpowering. Still, she wore no filtering mask over her face. While the need for it would have been understood by the Deyzara, who were quite aware of their own fragrance, it would not have been tactful. Striding through the temporary shelters that had been erected and the thousands of ropy limbs, writhing trunks, and bulging eyes, she tried to breathe through her mouth as much as possible.