Standing capeless in the rain, he finally thrust both ears forward. “We have been going that direction anyway.”
“No, we haven’t,” Masurathoo objected immediately. “We have been moving more to the east.” A twin-digited hand indicated the prone tendrils. “Those . . . things . . . are pointing markedly to the north. If we follow their ‘direction’ we could end up entirely missing the village we seek.”
“If we haven’t missed it already,” the Sakuntala murmured.
“We haven’t.” Hasa spoke confidently. “If it was somewhere behind us, the rhizomorphs would be pointing back the way we came.”
He started forward. Jemunu-jah hesitated only briefly before following. That left Masurathoo, for a change, to bring up the rear. Despite the rain, his companions did not have to look back to ensure that the Deyzara was keeping up with the pace. His steady litany of complaint and accusation marked his location and their progress as surely as any of the global positioning devices contained in their emergency kits.
16
As they marched on and on through the rain, Jemunu-jah began to wonder if he had finally lost all his mula. Surely if they were on the proper course they should have made contact with the village by now. His reservations were dismissed by the human. It seemed like every time the Sakuntala voiced his uncertainties, they would stumble across another outcrop of pannula. All the same vast organism, Hasa would insist. Another clump of mindless mushrooms, Masurathoo would counter.
Jemunu-jah was left caught in the middle between his two companions. One insisted that they were being guided, or at least helped, to safety, while the other swore to anyone and anything that would listen that they were only wandering aimlessly through the endless Viisiiviisii until exhaustion and death finally claimed them. For the scion of a warrior clan, the Sakuntala ruminated, he was spending an awful lot of time trying to keep the peace.