Within a quarter-hour he knew that Sssuri was not going wrong. Cradled
in a sudden dip in the land was the stream Dalgard had been looking
for. A hopper lifted a dripping muzzle from the shore ripples and
stared at them. Dalgard contacted the animal. It was its usual curious
self, nothing had alarmed or excited its interest. And he did not try
to establish more than a casual contact as they made their way down
the bank to the edge of the stream, Sssuri splashing in ankle-deep for
the sheer pleasure of feeling liquid curl about his feet and legs once
more.

Water dwellers fled from their passing and insects buzzed and hovered.
Otherwise they moved through a deserted world. The stream bed widened
and small islands of gravel, swept together in untidy piles by the
spring floods, arose dry topped, some already showing the green of
venturesome plants.

"Here--" Sssuri stopped, thrusting the butt of his spear into the
shore of one such islet. He dropped cross-legged on his choice, there
to remain patiently until those he sought would come with the dark.
Dalgard withdrew a little way downstream and took up a similar post.
The runners were shy, not easy to approach. And they would come more
readily if Sssuri were alone.

Here the murmur of the stream was loud, rising above the rustle of the
wind-driven grass. And the night was coming fast as the sun, hidden by
the cliff wall, sank into the sea. Dalgard, knowing that his night
sight was far inferior to that of the native Astran fauna, resignedly
settled himself for an all-night stay, not without a second regretful
memory of the snug camp by the shore.