And they waited together in silence as darkness seeped across the land.
Some time later, Pederson's voice came from the shadows, a soft rumination. "I don't know, Pretrie."
There was no answer. There had been no question.
"I just don't know. Was it worth it all? The time aspace, the men I've known, the lonely ones who died and the dying ones who never had a chance to be lonely."
"All people know that ache, old man," Pretrie said. He drew a deep breath.
"I never thought I needed anyone. I've learned better, Pretrie. Everybody needs somebody."
"For some the knowledge comes too late; they never have the chance to make use of it." Pederson had taught the alien little; Pretrie had come to him speaking English. It had been one more puzzling thing about the Jilkite, but again Pederson had not questioned it. There had been many spacers and missionaries on Mars.
Then the alien stiffened, his claw upon the old man's arm. "He comes, Pederson old man."
A thrill of expectancy, and a shiver of near-fright came with it. Pederson's gray head lifted, and despite the warmth of the shawl, he felt cold. So near now. "He's coming?"
"He is here."
They both sensed it, for Pederson could feel the awareness in the Jilkite beside him; he had grown sensitive to the alien's moods, even as the other had plumbed his own. "The Gray Man." Pederson spoke the words softly on the night air, and the moon valleys did not respond.
"I'm ready," said the old man, and he extended his left hand for the grasp. He set down the bulb of vik with his other hand.
The feel of hardening came stealing through him, and it was as though someone had taken his hand in return. Then, as he thought he was to go, alone, he said, "Goodbye to you, Pretrie, friend."
But there was no goodbye from the alien beside him. Instead, the Jilkite's voice came to him as through a fog softly descending.
"We go together, friend Pederson. The Gray Man comes to all races. Why do you expect me to go alone? Each need is a great one.
"I am here, Gray Man. Here. I am not alone." Oddly Pederson knew the Jilkite's claw had been offered, and taken in the clasp.
He closed his blind eyes.
After a great while, the sound of the harp crickets thrummed high once more, and on the porch before the hutch, there was the silence of peace.
Night had come to the lonely lands; night, but not darkness.