"That's perfect," said Paul. "Perfect...."
Before the five-month rainy season had made travel on the sodden,
gasping ground too miserable, Mijok had explored a half circle of
territory forty miles in radius east of the hills, for others who
might be willing to learn new ways. It was slow work, often
discouraging. He had located two bands of free-wandering women and
children--twenty in all--and stirred their curiosity and friendliness.
But he had been able to recruit only three other males. There was Rak.
Blackfurred Elis and tawny Surok were in vigorous middle years, hard
to convince but quick to learn once the barrier was down.
Kamon was accepted leader of the women. White with age, gaunt,
flat-breasted, stooped but quick on her feet, Kamon rarely smiled, but
her good nature was profound. "Ann," she said, "you ought to go.
We--if we cannot fight off these southern pygmies, we can escape. But
you? One of us would have to carry you. And as Mashana Dorothy says,
your womb is needed." (Mashana--sweetheart, mother, hunting companion,
friend.)