“The itching will pass,” Jemunu-jah assured him. “Better to laugh at such things than scream in pain.”
“One reaches a point where it becomes exceedingly difficult to tell the difference.” Right arm quivering, he used the two wide, strong digits to fasten a length of wrapping beneath his other arm as he turned his gaze on Hasa. “I appreciate your not shooting at me in a misguided attempt to rid me of the damnable affliction.”
“Don’t mention it,” Hasa replied without breaking a smile. “You sure you’re okay?”
“There will be some small marks,” Jemunu-jah commented. “In a few days, they all faded away. Next time, be more carefuling where you put down your backside.”
Masurathoo’s reply was, for an instant, the coldest thing in that part of the Viisiiviisii. “Thank you for that most small admonition. And now, if you don’t mind, I find myself entirely too open to the elements.” Bending, he moved to recover the rain cape that the ministering Jemunu-jah had set aside. In so doing, his foot crashed through a narrow place in the moss bed, promptly sending him headfirst into the shallow depths of the soft green pad.
As they worked together to pull him out, Jemunu-jah and Hasa found that even without the presence of any hitchhiking, tickling kaema on their bodies, it was their turn to laugh.
Another river. Wider than the one they had been forced to swim previously. Wider and this time boasting a significant current.
Recovered from his humiliating encounter with the kaema, Masurathoo contemplated the broad waterway that stretched out before them with understandable trepidation. Though there was nothing to suggest the presence of another giimatasa, or something even worse, he had no doubt that the river’s unseen depths were home to other kinds of predators as resourceful as they were voracious.