Soon he understood their lack of patience, for they were coming into an area of many trails, a blind valley with a stream trickling through it, and at its far side, near one old, old tree, burrows were made in the hillside, and others dotted a mound that might have been artificially reared. The homes, surely homes, were faced on the front with rock, with tiny windows and smallish doors which used stone or wooden lintels for support. Those on the hill had the most improbable accesses, winding trails over the porch of one to reach the door of the next, a maze of stone terraces and paths, with rocks neatly and decoratively arranged. There was a certain charm about the place until they came into the well-worn center ground of the village, under that ancient tree; and Merritt saw the fruit the branches bore—bleaching skulls, not human, but of their own kind, hung up like ornaments.
Otrekh gave a shrill call and inhabitants spilled forth from burrows and from hilltops and the woods themselves, male, female, young ones that scampered about and shrieked in imitative hostilities; and old ones that walked stooped and shuffling. The young males ventured closest, and one brandished a knife and yelled as if working up nerve for a charge.
Merritt realized at the last instant it was no bluff; he sprang back from the rush and escaped with a burning scrape of the stone knife across his ribs, the cloth parted, but his skin intact. Others hit him then, snarling and clawing.
And Merritt dived for the one that had started the attack, seized him, single-mindedly trying to beat the life out of his ugly face before the others reached his throat; but they pulled him off and threw him from one to the other, laughing and chirring in raucous amusement, tearing at his clothes, which seemed particularly to attract them.
A hand seized his collar and pulled him back from the midst of it, and Otrekh waded into the midst of the youths with a mighty backhand that cleared them back to a respectful distance. Merritt shook the hair from his eyes and struggled to loose himself from the grip that held him, finding it Rejkh; but Otrekh came then and seized him from the other side, hastening him along with no gentle urging.
Under the branches of that ominous tree Otrekh finally stopped and let him go; and Rejkh released him more rudely. A young female came running and hugged Otrekh and then Rejkh in welcome; and then she turned her face toward Merritt.
It was Sazhje. Among all the alien faces he knew her. It was the look in her eyes.
"Ssam," she said then, and that was all; but there seemed a note of pity in her voice.
Older males came, and a few old females of very great age; and Sazhje interrupted as Otrekh began to talk with them. When they ignored her, her voice rose shriller than theirs and more insistent, and she gestured furiously and then pleadingly until one of the elders threatened her with an uplifted hand. Otrekh put her out of the discussion with a brutal slap that made Merrill's teeth ache in sympathy.
Poor little Sazhje stumbled backward, recovered herself with a hiss and a baring of teeth, but when Otrekh growled and lunged at her she moved quickly enough out of his reach and slunk off with backward looks and growls in her throat.
Other females had gathered, and began to gather about Merrill, fingering him and his clothing in curiosity; and some of the youngest males were with them. Sazhje moved in on them to vent her fury, snarled and spat and sent them running—even Rejkh, who had the weight to win but chose to retreat. Sazhje put her arms about Merrill then and talked to him sympathetically, patted him and kept hold of his hand even while she turned and pricked up her ears to listen to the discussion Otrekh was having with the elders.
"Sam's not all right, is he?" Merritt said to her, and her long fingers tightened on his hand.
"Ahhrht," she insisted, and he had never imagined he could detect a lie in that unhuman voice. Sazhje was afraid. Her nails bit into his palm until they hurt, and she never ceased to listen to what was being said in the circle until the discussion was done.
Then as the council broke up, she dropped his hand and thrust herself forward once more, keeping out of Otrekh's reach and shouting at them, making fists of her slim hands and pounding them on her thighs to emphasize the point she was making.
At last Otrekh seemed to assent to what she was saying. He returned to Merritt along with Sazhje and seized his arm, led him up along a steep trail to a burrow about halfway up the hill. Rejkh and a few others trudged along behind.
Merritt knelt and crawled inside as they seemed to wish of him; and one of the adult males remained on guard outside, an effective prison, for there was only one exit possible and he must come out on hands and knees.
He tucked up then, and simply rested, numb to anything else.
Night came, dim and starlit, and the noises of the camp died away, but for the rustling comings and goings to burrows.
And finally a silver-outlined shadow appeared against the opening, and came inside with him.
"Ssam," said Sazhje's voice, and light fingers touched him in the darkness. He put his hand out to her arm and she leaned over and touched her lips to his face, a human gesture she had learned of him one night long past: as her face was constructed it was rather a chaste and dry expression, but one of utmost tenderness; and he wished earnestly he had words to talk with her.
She returned to the entrance and drew gourd containers in with her, food and drink, which she offered and he took gratefully, not caring what the food was.
"Thanks," he said hoarsely when he had done, and she reached up and fingered his unshaven face, then with gentle tugs at his collar urged him to put off his damp and filthy clothing.
He did so. She treated his hurts as was apparently the method of her kind, with her mouth and with water from the gourd; and she sealed the worst ones with what felt like quick-drying clay. It eased the fire in them. He did not judge his future long enough to worry for infection. The moment's comfort was enough.
When she was done she stirred the rushes that lined the burrow into a nest and settled down beside him, warming him with her body until he could relax for the first time in days. He lay with his head against her and even slept for a time, until her stirring wakened him.
"Sazhje?" he murmured, only then realizing he had slept. Her gentle fingers pushed at his shoulder and he moved, aware he had been causing her discomfort.
"Good Ssam," she murmured in his ear.
"Sazhje—Sam came, Sam came to find Sazjhe."
"Ah," she acknowledged. "Ssam no come, Ssam no come, 'morrow, 'morrow, 'morrow. Sazhje go Sazhje people. Poor Ssam. Otrekh come Ssam."
"Is Otrekh Sazhje's?"
"Otrekh—" Sazhje hesitated over that a long time, trying evidently to discover words for what Otrekh was to her. He thought that it was probably kinship, since Otrekh had not objected to Sazhje's joining him in the burrow— supposing that Otrekh knew where Sazhje was at the moment.
"Sazhje," he said, "Sam came to tell Sazhje—the dam—you remember, the dam—"
"Ah." She made a pyramid of her hands: she knew what it was that he built every day; he had tried to explain it to her one morning. 'Tam.”
"High water's coming, Sazhje. The dam will hold the water. Hold, you see. Water will come Sazhje people. Water—"
"Wa," she affirmed. She had never been able to pronounce that word.
"Water come Sazhje people. Sam came to tell Sazhje—
"Ah." Understanding dawned in her voice. "Ah. Ah, Ssam. Sazhje people—Sazhje people no ahhrht"
"Yes," Merritt said. "Sazhje tell her people to run—understand, run."
She made a sound that was her best approximation of understand, and he knew by the tension in her body that she was alarmed. Suddenly she edged toward the doorway.
"Ssam," she said, pausing, and seemed to be searching for words. "Good Ssam," she concluded helplessly, and was gone.