"Savages." Besan's scalp tightened. The logical path for them to take back toward the dead volcanic cone housing Rhilg lay in that direction.
"Look here, Besan," Nard Rost's voice was muffled.
The instructor was not to be seen. Besan, after a quick look around, made out a crevice in the rocky slope below him. The opening was large enough for a man to squeeze through. He jumped down and entered it.
There was no sign of Nard Rost at first; yet he felt sure that the older man had entered the split rock before him. Then the walls widened, a few feet from the entrance, and he found himself standing inside a large cave. Light filtered weakly from a crevice above.
His friend was examining the dead ashes of a fire. Beside it a disorderly jumble of dead branches was stacked.
"Cold," the instructor said. "And no recent tracks in the dust."
"Should be safe enough for one night."
Nard Rost's voice was doubtful. "If it wasn't almost night I'd say we better move along. But we need shelter—and rest."
"The entrance is too small for craturs," argued Besan, "and the night-flying wadts should keep away any roving savages."
"Go for the girl," decided the older man, "while I kindle fire."