After the tunnel, the rest of the descent had been relatively easy; they had followed the trail used by the wingless drones, being forced off it only once by the passage of a cavalcade of the little marauders. And they had discovered, to their surprise, that the human physique—inferior though it might be to machines in ruggedness, speed, and other respects—was better equipped for traversing rough terrain than the most ingenious vehicle ever constructed.
But both of them, unaccustomed as they were to walking on their own feet, were dead weary. They tramped on doggedly, searching the shadows, hoping to come upon some living machine-creature—of what race, didn't matter now.
So far they had seen only abundant evidence that the drones were abroad in force tonight, preparing perhaps for their swarming time. Drones in the air and on the ground, and once the burnt-out shell of an unidentifiable machine with a crew of the wingless salvagers worrying it, and once the light of fires afar off where the winged ones had made a kill....
Qanya stumbled, and Dworn caught her round the waist as she swayed.
"Tired," she gasped in a little girl's voice, then stiffened her back with a resolute effort.
"We'd better rest—"
"No," she said shakily; and then abruptly: "Listen!"
Not very far away, lost somewhere among the tricky moon-shadows, there was a stealthy crunching. It was coming nearer.
With instinctive caution the two hugged the pool of shadow beside a boulder.
"Spiders!" Qanya recognized them first.