Wheezing and fearful, clenching his hands deep into the spongy mass, Tagart pulled himself out onto the air, spindly shanks hanging over into nothing. "Now," spoke Finn, "who next?"
The women still refused. "You go then, yourself," cried Gisa.
"And leave you, my last guarantee against hunger? Aboard now!"
"No. The air is too small; let the old one go and we will follow on a larger."
"Very well." Finn released his grip. The air floated off over the plain, Tagart straddling and clutching for dear life.
They watched him curiously. "Observe," said Finn, "how fast and easily moves the air. Above the Organisms, over all the slime and uncertainty."
But the air itself was uncertain, and the old man's raft dissolved. Clutching at the departing wisps, Tagart sought to hold his cushion together. It fled from under him, and he fell.
On the peak the three watched the spindly shape flap and twist on its way to earth far below.
"Now," Reak exclaimed vexatiously, "we even have no more meat."