dusk caught them, hours later, on the wooded ridge high above the broad valley that was their destination.
carby followed rea off the crumbled highway, that the vanished sullans had built, and into a sheltered grove of long-leaved trees. brink and tzal, pushing easily together at the harnesses behind the rubber-tired cart, followed them.
clumsily, for they had never seen a tent before, they released the forward section of the cart and drew out the slender jointed ribs of metal. they snapped these together into a low dome ten feet in diameter; and then tzal controlled the extensible arms feeding out the plastic covering, while brink locked the opaque skin into place.
five minutes later, with the wind cone driving the generator and the bottled gas feeding the small stove, tzal was preparing their evening meal under the soft glowing tubes.
she turned to brink.
"better go help carby," she suggested, smiling. "that rea—" and she shook her head.
brink found carby struggling doggedly with the metal ribs. his partner was not in sight, but they could hear her voice, singing softly somewhere out among the dusky trees. when at last the lighting tubes were glowing and carby had lighted the stove, brink eyed the weary, large-featured man curiously.
"what are you going to do about it?" he blurted. "you can't go on doing all the work. she needs a good—a good, lumping, i think the ancients called it."
carby grinned faintly.
"when she is ready," he said mildly, "she will help."
"hah!" brink snorted and went to the zippered entrance. "see you tomorrow, bryt."
he crossed the near-darkness of the needle-strewn glade to his own tent. how bright were these stars and how sweet and cold was this raw air. in york dome, with its thirty million citizens and its mild, conditioned atmosphere, one saw the stars only through telescreens or viewing ports.
somewhere in the darkness a mournful wail, an aching ghost of a howl, sounded, and faded into the unfamiliar chirps, and hums of the night prowlers of the sullan uplands....
there was a choked scream from nearby and brink heard the crashing progress of rea smyt toward her tent. the zippered entrance brightened and then dimmed as she shut it behind her. brink shrugged. stooping he entered his own savory-smelling tent.
tzal had covered the sleeping cots with the gay scarlet-and-blue blankets provided them, and their sliced and steaming rations were ready on the extended table shelf of the cart. tzal smiled at him from the cot that doubled as a chair.
"better eat before it gets cold," she invited, and helped herself to a serving of salmon-hued promine.
"tomorrow," brink said as he seated himself beside her, "we will dine on real meat—meat that i kill."
"of course," tzal agreed placidly.
