Still no word was spoken.

Their silence puzzled him, for they were obviously on their guard. What was there to fear in these woods besides Kitru's troops? And what had these humans to fear from Kitru, who slew only teries?

The appearance of a water jug halted further speculation. Its mouth was placed against his lips and a few drops allowed to trickle out. The tery tried to gulp but succeeded only in aspirating a few drops, which started him coughing. The jug was withdrawn, but at least his tongue no longer felt like dried leather.

With the utmost gentleness and an uncanny coordination of effort, the four men lifted the tery. The pain came again, but not as bad a when the first one had tried to lift him. They carried him and placed him across the webbing of the drag, then tied him down with cloth strips. All without speaking.

Perhaps they were outlaws. But even so, the tery began to think them overly cautious in their silence. The soldiers were long gone.

The humans mounted and ambled their steeds toward the deep forest. The uneven ground jostled the drag and caused a few of his barely clotted wounds to reopen, but the tery bore the pain in silence. He felt safe and secure, as if everything was going to be all right. And he hadn't the vaguest notion why he should feel that way.

The path they traveled was unknown to the tery, who had spent most of his life in the forest. They passed through dank grottos of huge, foul-hued fungi that grew together at their tops and nearly blocked out the sun, and skirted masses of writhing green tendrils all too willing to pull any hapless creature within reach toward a gaping central naw. After what seemed an interminable length of time, the group passed through a particularly dense thicket and came upon a clearing and a camp.

The tents were crude, all odd shapes and sizes, scattered here and there in no particular arrangement.