To Hasa, it sounded like a chorus of male tenors warming up for a Magnificat. Masurathoo found it alien but not surprising. The depths of the Viisiiviisii were as full of new sounds as they were of new sights.
By the time the drifting shapes finally came into view, emerging out of the rain, their deep-throated purring was louder than anything else in the forest. Jemunu-jah’s eyes grew almost as wide as a Deyzara’s.
“Mokusinga!” he yelped. Turning, he leapt into a gap between several trees and began frantically ripping at what appeared to be some black-striped reeds that were growing out of the water. “Hurry, quickly!”
Masurathoo joined the Sakuntala without thinking. When in the deep varzea, it was always best to do so. But Hasa hesitated, standing his ground on an unwavering log. He had just struggled up out of the organic gumbo underlying the logjam and was in no hurry to submerge himself all over again.
Studying the approaching mokusinga, a species new to him, he failed to see anything sufficiently intimidating to spook someone like Jemunu-jah. Certainly they were not as ferocious-looking as a nougusm or casoko. In fact, he decided as he unholstered his pistol, they looked downright benign. He felt something striking at his backside through the material of the rain cape. Turning, he saw that the Sakuntala was repeatedly tapping him with the tip of his tongue in order to get his attention.
“Hurry, Hasa! Come into the water and do as I am.” Demonstrating, he placed one end of a hollow reed to his lips and began to breathe through it. Floating alongside him, Masurathoo did not need to make use of a reed. The breathing trunk on the top of his head would allow him to respirate freely while completely submerged.