The Tindler stopped, looked around cautiously. Although his night vision was excellent, he could see no other life forms about except those of the hulking, ever-silent tree-creatures. From those he had nothing to fear if he stayed on the road.

Slowly the Tindler rumbled up to the stricken creature. Surely a being of his bulk had nothing to fear from one so tiny and frail.

“What’s the matter, friend?” he called, trying to sound as concerned and helpful as possible.

The little creature groaned again. “Brigands, sir! Thieves and scoundrels set upon me a half-hour or so ago, took my pouch and everything, and twisted my leg right out of its socket, as you can see, leaving me to die here alone in the dark!”

The plight of the poor creature touched the Tindler deeply.

“Look, perhaps I can lift you atop my shell,” he suggested. “You would be in pain, but it’s not far to the Bucht border and a high-tech hospital.”

The little creature brightened. “Oh, thank you so much, good sir!” it exclaimed happily. “You have saved my life!”

The two eyes at the end of the Tindler’s long, narrow snout lowered to the little thing.

“Tell me,” the Tindler asked, not a little nervous himself, “what did the monsters who would do this look like?”

“There were three of them, sir. Two of them were huge—and just about invisible. You couldn’t see them until they moved!”

The Tindler thought that a little hard to believe, but so were the Kyrbizmithians. On the Well World, anything was possible somewhere.

“And the third?” the Tindler prompted. “Was it different than the other two? We have a long way to go, remember.”

The tiny creature nodded, and tried to raise itself a little. It looked the Tindler straight in the eyes, only a fraction of a centimeter from its round nostrils. “It looked just like me!”