The little bird hopped on the ground,fluttering ineffectively. Sola retreated from it, perversely alarmed now thatthe action was over. Sos donned a gauntlet from his camping pack and reacheddown carefully to pinion the flapping wings and pick up the frightened creature.

      It was not a sparrow after all, but somesimilar bird. There were flecks of yellow and orange in the brown wings, andthe bill was large and blunt. "Must be a mutant," he said. "I'venever spotted one like this before."

      Sol shrugged, not interested, and fishedthe body of the hawk out of the water. It would do for meat if they foundnothing better.

      Sos opened his glove and freed the bird.It lay in his palm, looking at him but too terrified to move. "Take off,stupid," he hid, shaking it gently.

      Its little claws found his thumb andclenched upon it.

      He reached slowly with his bare hand,satisfied that the creature was not vicious, and pulled at a wing to see if itwere broken. The feathers spread apart evenly. He checked the other wing,keeping his touch 'light so that the bird could slip free harmlessly if itdecided to fly. Neither was damaged as far as he could tell. "Takeoff," he urged it again, flipping his hand in the air.

      The bird hung tight, only spreading itswings momentarily to preserve its equilibrium.

      "As you wish," he said, Hebrought the glove to the strap over his shoulder and jostled until the birdtransferred its perch to the nylon. "Stupid," he repeated, notunkindly.

      They resumed the march. Fields and brushalternated with islands of trees, and as dusk came the shrilling of insectsbecame amplified, always loudest just a little distance away, but never fromthe ground. They crossed the spoor of no larger animals. At length they campedby the bank of the stream and netted several small fish. Sos struck a firewhile Sola cleaned and prepared the flesh. The woman appeared to have had agood education; she could do things.