“I’m already feeling swallowed.” Displaying both strength and agility, Hasa had followed Jemunu-jah up onto the higher branch. “No one’s forcing you to come, mashed potato. Stay or follow; it makes no difference to me.” Lowering his voice meaningfully, he glanced over at Jemunu-jah. “If he stays behind, maybe he’ll draw the carnivores.”
The Sakuntala did not respond. It would have been unseemly and would have cost him mula. Like him or not, Masurathoo was his associate in this joint venture. Still, the human’s words contained a certain merit . . .
Jemunu-jah started walking, bracing himself with his long arms and balancing gracefully on the branch. Following behind, the human matched him stride for stride. Masurathoo remained where he was, stubborn and utterly convinced.
Or rather, he did so until his companions had advanced out of sight. Only later did the Deyzara catch up to them, panting hard, his breathing trunk swollen and reddened with the effort, his splendid body wrappings already shredded and torn.
They were forced to stop early for the night so that he could recuperate. Left to his own devices, Hasa would have pressed on. But he was smart enough to realize that he stood a much better chance of getting somewhere if he stayed with the Sakuntala, and Jemunu-jah would not leave Masurathoo behind. It was, he explained, a question of mula and of doing what was right.
Besides, it was abundantly clear to Jemunu-jah by now that the Deyzara would be much easier to shove in front of an oncoming predator than would the human . . .