“There's water somewhere,” said Brutha.
“There's always water, even in the worst deserts,” said Om. “One, oh, maybe two inches of rain a year.”
“I can smell something,” said Brutha, as his feet stopped treading on sand and crunched up the lime?stone scree around the boulders. “Something rank.”
“Hold me over your head.”
Om scanned the rocks.
“Right. Now bring me down again. And head for that rock that looks like . . . that looks very unex?pected, really.”
Brutha stared. “It does, too,” he croaked, eventu?ally. “Amazing to think it was carved by the wind.”
“The wind god has a sense of humor,” said Om. “Although it's pretty basic.”
Near the foot of the rock huge slabs had fallen over the years, forming a jagged pile with, here and there, shadowy openings.
"That smell- Brutha began.
“Probably animals come to drink the water,” said Om.
Brutha's foot kicked against something yellowwhite, which bounced away among the rocks making a noise like a sackful of coconuts. In the stifling empty silence of the desert, it echoed loudly.
“What was that?”
“Definitely not a skull,” lied Om. "Don't worry . . .
“There's bones everywhere!”
“Well? What did you expect? This is a desert! People die here! It's a very popular occupation in this vicinity!”
Brutha picked up a bone. He was, as he well knew, stupid. But people didn't gnaw their own bones after they died.
"Om-
“There's water here!” shouted Om. “We need it! But-there's probably one or two drawbacks!”
“What kind of drawbacks?”
“As in natural hazards!”
“Like-?”
“Well, you know lions?” said Om desperately.
“There's lions here?”
“Well . . . slightly.”
“Slightly lions?”
“Only one lion.”
"Only one-
"-generally a solitary creature. Most to be feared are the old males, who are forced into the most inhospitable regions by their younger rivals. They are eviltempered and cunning and in their extremity have lost all fear of man-'
The memory faded, letting go of Brutha's vocal chords.