Fors fended off the body of a deer which had taken too late to refuge and worked his way to the next lodge and so on to the dam. Here the fire had eaten a hole, taken a good bite out, so that water was spilling freely into the old channel of the stream.
By the light of smoldering roots he could make out the course for some distance ahead.
“Holla!”
A moment later, Arskane joined him.
“So we follow the water, eh?” The southerner applauded. “Well, with the fire behind us we shall not worry about pursuit. Perhaps good fortune journeys on our right hand tonight, my brother.”
Fors grunted, climbing over the rough surface of the dam. Again they could keep their feet. The water was only waistdeep here. But the stones in the course made slippery footing and they crept along fearing a disastrous fall.
When they were at last well away from the fire glow in the sky Fors stopped and studied the stars, looking for the familiar clusters which were the unchanging guides he had been taught. They were heading south-but from a westerly direction and this was unknown territory.
“Will we hear the drums now?” he asked.
“Do not count on it. The tribe probably believes me as dead as Noraton and sounds the call no longer.”
Fors shivered, perhaps just from the long immersion in the chill water. “This is a wide land, without a guide we may miss them—”