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A
robed
man
squatted
silently
on
sand
across
from
Hawat
,
apparently
unmoved
by
the
words
.
The
two
crouched
beneath
a
rock
overhang
that
looked
down
on
a
wide
,
shallow
sink
.
Dawn
was
spreading
over
the
shattered
outline
of
cliffs
across
the
basin
,
touching
everything
with
pink
.
It
was
cold
under
the
overhang
,
a
dry
and
penetrating
chill
left
over
from
the
night
.
There
had
been
a
warm
wind
just
before
dawn
,
but
now
it
was
cold
.
Hawat
could
hear
teeth
chattering
behind
him
among
the
few
troopers
remaining
in
his
force
.
The
man
squatting
across
from
Hawat
was
a
Fremen
who
had
come
across
the
sink
in
the
first
light
of
false
dawn
,
skittering
over
the
sand
,
blending
into
the
dunes
,
his
movements
barely
discernible
.
The
Fremen
extended
a
finger
to
the
sand
between
them
,
drew
a
figure
there
.
It
looked
like
a
bowl
with
an
arrow
spilling
out
of
it
.
“
There
are
many
Harkonnen
patrols
,
”
he
said
.
He
lifted
his
finger
,
pointed
upward
across
the
cliffs
that
Hawat
and
his
men
had
descended
.
Hawat
nodded
.
Many
patrols
.
Yes
.
But
still
he
did
not
know
what
this
Fremen
wanted
and
this
rankled
.
Mentat
training
was
supposed
to
give
a
man
the
power
to
see
motives
.
This
had
been
the
worst
night
of
Hawat
’
s
life
.
He
had
been
at
Tsimpo
,
a
garrison
village
,
buffer
outpost
for
the
former
capital
city
,
Carthag
,
when
the
reports
of
attack
began
arriving
.
At
first
,
he
’
d
thought
:
It
’
s
a
raid
.
The
Harkonnens
are
testing
.
But
report
followed
report
—
faster
and
faster
.
