On they moved and the sun fell and the first forest shadows came out to welcome the night. The sunset shower came, unusually heavy, silencing the forest sounds by its patter on the leaves. The air smelled new and crisp.
A group of birds huddled together, chirping sleepily, in a century old conje tree.
"We must hurry," Neju said.
And the column moved faster, its sounds of movement being hushed by the damp foliage. Vines and branches parted before it and folded into place after it, swishing softly. The children huddled in, and the column hurried.
When twilight was full upon the forest, and the first bright hero souls were in the sky, Neju slipped back from the advance of the column to whisper, "We are almost there. Be very still."
Neju gestured that they should spread out, and when their positions suited him, he motioned for them to advance.
And finally they came to the edge of the forest.
There lay the stockade, asparkle with electric lights. The females drew in sharp breaths at the sight of such a magnificent structure—Ah, what the demons build for their servants! they seemed to say. And the helicopter, coming in from a long flight of exploration settled inside the stockade, its blades sparkling in the new moon.
The natives shuddered in superstitious awe; they clutched their noise makers closer to their bodies as if for protection.