Polf let out a squeak and tumbled in pursuit. By the time Guthrie and his shadow reached the end of the single, irregular street boasted by the village, the new arrivals had been surrounded by half of the population.
At first, Guthrie found his approach deliberately blocked by several of the village elders.
"What do you fear in this moment?" he snarled in Skirkhi, as he shoved his way through the inner ranks. "Who else will tell you what they say?"
He managed to jab old Kilki on the side of his thick skull with one elbow, a limited satisfaction because Kilki ranked only about fourth in the Council of Elders. Guthrie wished he could get at Thyggar, who had ruled that he be kept inside one of the cramped stone huts for several weeks following his capture.
Kilki rubbed the knobby side of his head philosophically and said, "How we know they are not good spirits called to steal you back to the sky, Gut'rie?"
"Huh!" snorted the Terran, pointing to the disheveled pair with the search party. "They don't look like good spirits to me!"
"That is what you say," grunted Kilki. "Maybe we burn—then be sure!"
The man was Guthrie's height or an inch taller, and broad of shoulder. He had a strong face with bold, regular features slightly spoiled by a thick stub of a nose. High cheekbones gave his eyes a masked expression. Though sweat-darkened, his hair appeared to be blond and wavy.
The girl did not stare at Guthrie with the same blend of irritation and expectancy. Instead, her gray eyes shone with a trusting relief that caused the spacer to grimace uncomfortably. He thought she was probably pretty, if a trifle thin, but could not be sure. Somewhere on the way—he guessed in the marsh about a mile south of the village—she had fallen flat in the mud.
"Who'n'ell are these monkeys?" demanded the man. "I couldn't get anything out of them except signals to go faster."