“What happened?” Standing in the rain in now sodden bright wraps of fabric, clutching a couple of food paks in one two-digited hand and a small pistol in the other, a despondent Masurathoo gazed blankly at the spot where the skimmer had been swallowed by the Viisiiviisii. “What could I possibly have done wrong?”
Jemunu-jah paid little attention to the Deyzara’s mumblings. As soon as they had emerged from the skimmer, old instincts had taken over. His sharp eyes were scanning their immediate surroundings, looking for any sign of the numerous and resourceful predators that stalked the flooded forest.
“I don’t know you do anything wrong, two-trunk. But I do know we stand here very long on this place by the water surface where so much disturbance occur, we quick-soon have nothing to worry about except how fast something else can digest us.” He glanced upward. “We have to get higher. Up away from water.” Eyeing a suitable branch, he swung himself upward.
With a resigned sigh, Masurathoo moved to follow. Everything Jemunu-jah accomplished with ease was a struggle for the Deyzara. But he persisted. His kind had determination, if not physical ability. Several times, Jemunu-jah waited for his companion to catch up. Occasionally, shaking his head in disbelief at the typical inherent Deyzara clumsiness and lack of athleticism, Jemunu-jah reached down and back to help him.
Eventually they reached a sheltered place beneath a brace of saminio leaves that were growing close enough together to give them some shelter from the steady downpour. Not that Jemunu-jah needed it. His kind were as comfortable out in the rain as they were inside a house. Masurathoo, however, was inordinately grateful.