main | table of contents Salamander Hill Copyright © 2004, S. Y. Affolee 14 At the Canyon Floor Dash slowed Biter to a canter. The stallion flared his nostrils at the subtle change in the air. It was less dusty. Scamp the puma wasn’t far behind and the big cat too sensed a difference in the air. The humans in charge of the trip, however, didn’t have such a sensitive sense of smell. Instead, they were gaping at the canyon, which was nearly a vertical ravine cutting through the layers of earth. Prudence had dismounted and stood at the edge looking down. She whistled. It was a long way down. One misstep and that would be the end. “Well, any more bright ideas?” she asked, directing her question at Dash who had thought earlier that they could use the canyon as a hiding place. “Obviously we can’t go down at this point,” the other trouver said. “We could try going north along it. Perhaps it’ll end eventually or at least get shallow enough for us to cross.” The wilderness guide, however was looking south. “What do you see?” asked Ficket eagerly. “If we go a couple hundred yards that way,” Altner said slowly, “we might be able to get down.” Prudence frowned as she got back on her mare. “Why do you say that? Don’t tell me there’s a bridge roped across. Nobody lives all the way out here.” “Don’t be too sure of that,” said the wilderness guide. “Come, look.” The four travelers directed their mounts a few paces southward with the puma tagging along behind. There wasn’t a bridge across the canyon but there was a ledge like ramp that appeared to be carved along the canyon wall. There was a worn wooden sign at the beginning of the trail. The letters were faded but it was obvious it was in the same foreign language as the signs in the strange abandoned town they had stayed at the few days before. “You don’t suppose there used to be a civilization out here in the Dustlands, do you?” said Dash. “You don’t think some of those people are still around?” “If that town was anything to judge by,” said Altner, “then yes, they are long gone. But is it so surprising that there once was a civilization out here? How would treasures get out here in the first place if it were not for people?” “Or there could be no treasure at all,” cut in Prudence. “This could all be a fairy tale.” “That is no fairy tale,” said Dash pointing to the sign. Ficket sighed loudly. “Enough of the talking! Let’s get through this canyon, or at least to the bottom before night falls.” The others nodded at his sensible suggestion and they proceeded to the downward sloping ledge in single file: Altner, Ficket, Prudence, Scamp, and finally Dash. There was little talking as their horses slowly picked their way down, careful to avoid tripping on loose stones. The canyon walls, stripped with different colors of clays and sandstone—a compact mix of weathered sedimentary rock—weren’t completely bare. Seeds from bushes and trees and wildflowers had been blown into the canyon by the wind, some of them landing into the crevasses of the canyon walls and subsequently germinating. Occasionally the travelers would glance over the ledge and they would see something sparkling and snaking away below. The growing roar of white noise was an indication that this sparkling thing was a river. It had already been past noon when they ventured into the canyon and as they descended, the sun itself disappeared past the canyon walls although the sky was still bright. Once, the travelers noticed a bird swooping down from overhead, although it had been too quick for them to tell if it had been a hawk, falcon, or eagle. The temperature of the canyon also became noticeably cooler as they descended—a relief, certainly, from the drier and more highly elevated Dustlands. Light was beginning to wane, as they stepped to the bottom which was a wide bank along a placidly moving shallow river. It was also getting colder again and the travelers decided to camp then and there and concentrate on starting a fire. By the time the fire was roaring and Ficket (whose turn it was to cook) was stirring the night’s supper, they had their bedrolls out and the sky was dark enough for the stars to appear. The moon, although more than half full was noticeably waning. Scamp had disappeared again, probably to catch her own dinner. There were a few sounds in the canyon besides the trickling of the river—singing crickets, the hooting of owls, the occasional rustling sounds of the canyon floor vegetation in the breeze. After dinner, Prudence felt particularly relaxed. It was a dangerous sense of complacency, she knew. With no attack the past two days and even with the cover of the canyon walls, they couldn’t really consider themselves to be safe. * * * It was Prudence’s turn for the last watch so as the men slept and her puma companion snoozed at her feet, she tended the dying fire and watched the sky above the canyon turn from navy to gray. Dash had been the first to wake and he seemed quite alert as if he hadn’t been sleeping at all. He went to the stream to wash up and when he came back, his hair was wet and he had shaved off the stubble from the past few days. “Go on, I’ll take over here,” he told her gruffly as he rummaged about for their breakfast rations. “You can go ahead and wash up. Who knows when our next bath would be?” She found herself grinning. “Thanks. By the way, you look a lot better.” “Oh?” “Without the stubble,” she clarified. “You don’t look so dead on your feet.” “Thanks a lot. I did it for you, you know. Otherwise I could have just left it.” “Me?” “You always remind me to shave for some reason or other. I don’t think you’ve ever told me.” “You don’t have to do what I tell you.” “No, I don’t. But I want to.” She examined his frowning countenance. Did he seem uncomfortable about the way the conversation was going? If he wasn’t doing it because she said so, was it because he was doing it to please her? But now that she thought about it, she didn’t like where that thought was leading either. Perhaps she shouldn’t think of him in that way. He didn’t think of her in that way, did he? He only liked to tease her so she would get mad. “So are you going to punch me for assuming too much or are you going to wash up?” He seemed irritated by her sudden scrutiny instead of amused. Deciding he was growing to complacent with her reactions, she impulsively leaned over and brushed her lips against his cheek. “Yes, I do like it when you shave,” she said next to his ear. “It’s much more pleasant on the eye as well as the mouth.” Pleased that she had finally shocked him, she left him standing wide-eyed. She was then gone and a moment later, he heard the splashing of water and feminine laughter behind some bushes that were hiding the view of the river. He got out the rest of his rations, feeling his face heat up to a beet red. He hoped to whatever deity that was listening that Ficket and Altner would not see him in this infatuated state when they woke up.