“On foot, then.”
She looked thoughtful. “A man your size, in good condition, if he were familiar with the country . . . I’d say three to four months, barring mountain predators, avalanche, bad water, and other possibilities,”
So he would have to be found. He wasn’t going to find his way out of here without her help, and she didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere. Nor did threats of physical violence ever mean much to people who weren’t right in the head.
Anyhow, it was silly to think about such things now. First, his leg and ribs had to mend. Better to get her back on a subject she was more enamored of. Something related to her delusions.
“How can you be so sure these trees can be made to reproduce after transplanting?”
“Because I found out why they weren’t and the answer’s simple. Any puzzle’s easy to put together, provided none of the pieces fall off the table. If you’re
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Ye Who Would Sing
well enough to walk in a few days, I’ll show you. The crutches I’ve got are short for you, but you’ll manage.”
The forest valley was narrow, the peaks cupping it between their flanks high and precipitous. Ages ago a glacier had cut this gorge. Now it was gone, leaving gray walls, green floor, and a roof of seemingly perpetual clouds, low-hanging clouds which shielded it from discovery by air.
The old woman, despite her disclaimers, seemed capable of getting around quite well. Caitland felt she could have matched his pace even if he weren’t burdened with the crutches, though she insisted any strenuous climbing was past her.