The giant man would be very sick, andprobably he would die. At night the moths would come, and later the shrews,while he lay helpless. The man had been stupid to enter the badlands' heart.

      Stupid-yet brave and kind. No otherstranger had ever extended a helping hand to the boy or fed him since hisparents died, and he was oddly moved by it. Somewhere deep in his memory befound a basic instruction: kindness must be met with kindness. It was all thatremained of the teaching of his long lost parents, whose skulls were whiteningin a burn.

      This giant man was like his dead father:strong, quiet, fierce in anger but gentle when unprovoked. The boy hadappreciated both the attention and the savage discipline. It was possible totrust a man like that.

      He gathered select herbs and came back,his motives uncertain but his actions sure. The man was lying Where he hadoriginally settled to the ground, his body flushed. The boy placed a compressof leaves against the fever-ridden torso and limbs and squeezed drops ofstem-juice into the grimacing mouth, but could do little else. The giant wastoo heavy for him to move, and the boy's clubbed hands could not grasp himproperly for such an effort. Not without bruising the flesh.

      But as the coolness of night came, the manrevived somewhat.

      He cleaned himself up with agonizedmotions but did not eat. He climbed into his bag and lost consciousness.

      In the morning the man seemed alert, butstumbled when he attempted to stand. He could not walk. The boy gave him a stemto chew on, and he chewed, not seeming to be aware of his action.