Even if she did glance more than seemed reasonable at one particular corner of her desk.
15
The lingering stink of vatulalilu sap stayed with them as they made camp in a jam of floating fallen logs on the other side of the river. It would not wash off even with the aid of the constant rain. The enduring smell didn’t seem to faze the by now acclimated Hasa or trouble Jemunu-jah, but Masurathoo felt as if he would never be clean again.
The jackstraw jumble of rotting wood made for uncertain footing. One log would provide a solid base, while the one jammed up alongside it could be composed entirely of disintegrating punk shot through with millions of mycelium. Hasa found this out the hard way when one foot went completely through what appeared to be an unyielding bouloutu trunk and plunged him into the soupy water up to his waist. It was while they were pulling him out, cursing and complaining, that Jemunu-jah first heard the humming. Leaving Masurathoo to help the fuming human the rest of the way, the tall Sakuntala turned to the south, both ears alert and aimed in the direction of the rising noise.
“What is it?” Upset with himself for having taken the misstep, Hasa was wiping fragments of decomposing wood from his rain-slicked lower extremities. After first trying to help, Masurathoo backed off and left the human to his own devices. Those flat, many-fingered hands were swinging a little too wildly for him to get close enough to assist without risking a swipe across his own face.
Jemunu-jah flicked his tongue backward and fluttered the tip. The human knew enough of Sakuntala tongue language to recognize the request for silence. Neither he nor Masurathoo had to repeat the query, because the humming soon grew loud enough so that they could hear it for themselves.