Later, he tried to convince himself that he could sleep for a few hours.
Still later, following Polf down the torch-lit street, trying to look nonchalant before the unusual gathering of Skirkhi, he asked himself again, What else can I do? He avoided the amused glint in old Thyggar's eyes.
The doing drove out the thought, and it was some hours before it occurred to him again. When it did, he was stumbling up a pitch-black slope miles to the south of the village.
Behind him, he could hear the sounds of panting and of dragging footsteps as Karen, Polf, and two other Skirkhi followed. The slope leveled off to a plateau. Something too big and solid to be a tree loomed up against the horizon.
"There it is!" Guthrie gasped.
The darkness was relieved only slightly by the stars, but there was no mistaking that silhouette. Guthrie stumbled the last hundred yards and came to a halt beside one big fin.
He stretched out a hand and accounted for the others by touch as they arrived. The rocket was canted slightly because one of the fins had sunk a little way into the ground, and the hatch half-way up the hull had been left open with the exit ladder extended to the surface.
"We'd better catch our wind before trying to climb up," he said.
He knelt on the grassy ground and rolled wearily over to a sitting position.