For the next few days he was preoccupied, hardly speaking to her as they walked slowly through the forest that lifted into the mountains. The Earth Mother's feet blistered and swelled, her shoulders were rubbed raw by the pack straps, but Markel drove her steadily forward. On the fourth day he shot a pheasant, roasting it that evening while the Earth Mother sat with her feet in a pool. They had camped on a wide ledge backed by a cliff; a thin waterfall splashed down this cliff and pooled on the ledge before sloping down the mountain.
"Look at my feet! I can't walk another step, not one more step!"
Markel poked coals around the mud-covered pheasant. "Put them back in the water. I'm not interested in your fat feet."
"Yeah, you ain't interested in nothing but your lousy Phoenix. I say to hell with your lousy Phoenix, that's what I say! Besides, my feet ain't fat. I been losing weight every day with all this walking."
Markel laughed. "Your feet will be all right in a few days. Come here and eat."
Sullenly, she came to the fire and they ate in silence. Eventually, Markel said, "I suppose it is rather rough on you, at that."
"Rough? I could take that, if you'd only treat me like a human being." She leaned forward eagerly. "Am I so awful you can't even touch me? Am I so fat and stupid?"
He peeled a piece of meat from a drumstick with his fingers.
"Am I? Tell me!"
"Calm down. You'll get hysterical again. Eat your pheasant."