side of the
prong of rock by water which spouted from the face of a sheer cliff not
too far away, with force enough to spray several feet beyond its exit
point. Shann seeing that and guessing at its significance, drew a deep
breath, and heard the ghost of an answering chuckle from his companion.

"Yes, that's where we came out, boy. Like to make a return trip?"

Shann shook his head, and then wished that he had not so rashly made
that move, for the world swung in a dizzy whirl. Things had happened too
fast. For the moment it was enough that they were out of the underground
ways, back under the amber sky, feeling the bite of Warlock's sun.

Steadying his head with both hands, Shann turned slowly, to survey what
might lie at their backs. The water, pouring by on either side,
suggested that they were again on an island. Warlock, he thought
gloomily, seemed to be for Terrans a succession of islands, all hard to
escape.

The tangle of rocks did not encourage any exploration. Just gazing at
them added to his weariness. They rose, tier by tier, to a ragged crown
against the sky. Shann continued to sit staring at them.

"To climb that...." His voice trailed into the silence of complete
discouragement.

"You climb--or swim," Thorvald stated. But, Shann noted, the Survey
officer was not in a hurry to make either move.

Nowhere in that wilderness of rock was there the least relieving bit of
purple foliage. Nor did any clak-claks or leather-headed birds tour the
sky over their heads. Shann's thirst might have been partially assuaged,
but his hunger remained. And it was that need which forced him at last
into action. The barren heights promised nothing in the way of food,
but remembering the harvest the wolverines had taken from under the
rocks along the river, he got to his feet and lurched out on the reef
which had been their salvation, hunting some pool which might hold an
edible captive or two.

So it was that Shann made the discovery of a possible path consisting of
a ledge running toward the other end of the island, if this were an
island where they had taken refuge. The spray of the water drenched that
way, feeding small pools in the uneven surface, and strips of yellow
weed trailed in slimy ribbons back below the surface of the waves.

He called to Thorvald and gestured to his find. And then, close
together, linking hands when the going became hazardous, the men
followed the path. Twice they made finds in the pools