"It's just come day," the woman said, pointing upward.
He looked up. Far above, where had been gloom, hung a pinkish-green, opalescent haze of light. Parallel lines of tree trunks converged through it to be lost in nebulosity.
"Daylight overpowers the luminous fungi," she said.
"We sleep, then walk again. Shall we find food?"
"No. We must always go to sleep hungry so we will wake again."
They looked, until tired out, for a place of shelter.
They slept, locked together in the cranny of a massive buttress. The man dreamed of his tame home-world.
He woke again into nightmare. In a twenty-foot fan-grove of the white fungus they combed handfuls of black spores out of gill slots. The birdshot-sized spores had a pleasant, nutty flavor.
With the strength more walking. Use it, use it, burn the poison. Day faded above, and luminous night below came back to light the way. A rocky ledge and another, and then a shallow ravine with a black stream cascading. They drank and the man said, "We'll follow it, find an upland clearing."