But by dint of some perverse pride she refused to do so. She would not
be a slave to any man, or concede her spirit to a Nature so base and
single-minded. Whatever that might mean. She did not know.
And as soon as the slightest strength returned to her limbs she was up
again, fighting the stubborn rush of dizziness, assuring the nagging
voice of caution that she was ready to go on.
Kalus was truly worried, himself not immune to the alien strangeness of
the place. He did not know what waited over the next hill, the next
series of hills, or how with his primitive weapons alone he would
protect them. For he had seen the wisp of smoke, the kind that only man
can make: the white smoke of intentional fire, though he dared not speak
of it to the girl.
All seemed lost and out of control. He wanted to yield and to trust,
and if it had been his life alone he might have done so. But the more
the woman-child railed and pulled away from him, the more he knew that
she was family in the deepest sense. Nothing she could do or say made
him feel any less bound to her, one with her, or responsible for her
safety and well-being.
There was nothing else for it. She had begun of her own to climb the
uneven slant. He could either follow behind or forcibly stop her; there
was no third alternative.
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