"Why not go disguised as some of his people?" Travis wondered. He grinned, "You could be my wife—"
Nuala sniffed her contempt. She lashed at him, "I am above emotions. I am almost pure thought. Don't distract me from my planning."
Travis chuckled, "A couple of barbarians. We'd look pretty good as nomads, wouldn't we? Well, what do you say? What's to stop us?"
Nuala snapped, "Our features! They are too delicate, too finely formed. Rudra hastened the evolution of his people, speeded up their ascent in time. They are still brutish, thick of nose, of lip."
"If we had some of the celluvalin. I could do a pretty fancy job on our faces. I've moulded life forms in clay often enough for Solar Museum."
Nuala eyed him wonderingly. "You are a young race, but you Earth-things do come up with some good ideas. There will be medical centers on Rudraline. If we can find one, there will be celluvalin there."
They set out under the pines, walking for the windbent oaks, side by side.
For three days they moved southward. Here and there were farms, sprawled across the land. Travis walked with his eyes on them, studying the architecture, the terrain. Already, he told himself, he could do a few panoramic windows for Solar—if he ever got out of this thing alive.
Once Nuala caught him by the wrist, dragged him back to the shelter of a dwarf bush. She whispered, "A caravan. The Rudraldians are taking their produce to market at Kovokod!"