“Or a stinger delivered to the buttocks. Your words fail to reassure me.” Turning away from the Sakuntala, he peered once more into the dank forest depths. “Don’t be coy with me, big-ears. Is there something out there or not?”
“Just like forest spirits, there are many creatures who hunt by not moving. Who sit and wait for food to come to them. Like giimatasa in water.” He leveled a stare past the human. “I don’t see anything like that.”
“Well, I suppose that’s something, anyway.”
They stood together for a couple of moments, surveying the forest, listening to the ceaseless litany of soft chattering sounds that emerged from the rain-swathed interior. Finally, Hasa shrugged and moved to gather up his gear.
“Maybe I’ve spent too much time looking at the Viisiiviisii. Now I’ve got it in my head that it’s starting to look back.”
“Forest spirits can be very deceptive.” Jemunu-jah wished to be understanding.
“So can creeping dementia.” Hasa fiddled with his pack, making sure it was sealed against moisture. When he saw the Sakuntala eyeing him quizzically, he added by way of explanation, “Think of it as a kind of parasite.” That was easier, he decided, than trying to explain the inner workings of the human mind: a discussion for which he was not in the mood.
But though he dropped the matter, his skin continued to crawl, and not from any new infestation of microscopic life-forms. At which point Masurathoo let out a half hoot, half shriek of such intensity that it rose well above the sound of falling rain, the cacklings of unseen forest denizens, and the bioprospector’s own restless thoughts.