Torcred raised his head and looked at her glassy-eyed. "You heard," he growled. "I'm not a terrapin any more."
"You'll always be a terrapin to me," she said. "A miserable, beaten crawler."
He stared without understanding. Around them was the thirsty, deadly desert; the sun was hot already, his mouth was dry, and the poisonous sea lapped mockingly at its flat shore. The girl had been ready to die when her aero crashed—but now her slender body was vibrant with the will to live.
But her bitter words could not fail of effect. Torcred stumbled erect and snapped, "I'm not beaten until I'm dead! But—what chance do we have?"
She accepted the we with a faint smile, and said in a softer tone, "There is an aero eyrie—not my own, but one with which we have friendly relations—about seventy miles east of here, in those blue mountains you can see. Perhaps we can make it there on foot."
"That's all very well for you," said Torcred somberly. "But for me—what could I expect from your people?"
"We are not so narrow-minded as the terrapins. We see more and tolerate more. You can be taken in and given tasks to perform in return for your keep." She frowned at his doubt, and explained further, "Some day—soon—we birds will rule all the Earth. And we do not want to wipe out all the other races; we'll preserve them to do the jobs that must be done on the ground, and all of our people will be free to fly."
The picture of conquest she painted so naively repelled Torcred, reared in the terrapin tradition of a barbaric individualistic freedom. "You offer me slavery," he said harshly.
"No, no," protested Ladna. "According to our law, you will be free to leave if you wish." He snorted. "And—" she hesitated, "I will be in the same condition, now that I have lost my wings."
Torcred stared at the ground, shrugged. "It's better than dying here—perhaps. And we may not make it. How fast can one travel on foot?"