He went as far as the bend, beyond which another short reach appeared. A man was sitting on a narrow shelf of bank, with his feet in the water. He was clothed in a coarse, rough hide, which left his limbs bare. He was short, thick, and sturdy, with short legs and a long, powerful arms, terminating in hands of an extraordinary size. He was oldish. His face was plain, slablike, and expressionless; it was full of wrinkles, and walnut-coloured. Both face and head were bald, and his skin was tough and leathery. He seemed to be some sort of peasant, or fisherman; there was no trace in his face of thought for others, or delicacy of feeling. He possessed three eyes, of different colors—jade-green, blue, and ulfire.
In front of him, riding on the water, moored to the bank, was an elementary raft, consisting of the branches of trees, clumsily corded together.
Maskull addressed him. “Are you another of the wise men of the Wombflash Forest?”
The man answered him in a gruff, husky voice, looking up as he did so. “I’m a fisherman. I know nothing about wisdom.”
“What name do you go by?”
“Polecrab. What’s yours?”
“Maskull. If you’re a fisherman, you ought to have fish. I’m famishing.”
Polecrab grunted, and paused a minute before answering.
“There’s fish enough. My dinner is cooking in the sands now. It’s easy enough to get you some more.”
Maskull found this a pleasant speech.