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Some
of
them
slept
now
,
standing
up
,
leaning
against
the
rock
,
sprawled
on
the
sand
beneath
the
rock
.
Their
last
’
thopter
,
the
one
they
’
d
been
using
as
a
ground
-
effect
machine
to
carry
their
wounded
,
had
given
out
just
before
dawn
.
They
had
cut
it
up
with
lasguns
and
hidden
the
pieces
,
then
worked
their
way
down
into
this
hiding
place
at
the
edge
of
the
basin
.
Hawat
had
only
a
rough
idea
of
their
location
—
some
two
hundred
kilometers
southeast
of
Arrakeen
.
The
main
traveled
ways
between
the
Shield
Wall
sietch
communities
were
somewhere
south
of
them
.
The
Fremen
across
from
Hawat
threw
back
his
hood
and
stillsuit
cap
to
reveal
sandy
hair
and
beard
.
The
hair
was
combed
straight
back
from
a
high
,
thin
forehead
.
He
had
the
unreadable
total
blue
eyes
of
the
spice
diet
.
Beard
and
mustache
were
stained
at
one
side
of
the
mouth
,
his
hair
matted
there
by
pressure
of
the
looping
catchtube
from
his
nose
plugs
.
The
man
removed
his
plugs
,
readjusted
them
.
He
rubbed
at
a
scar
beside
his
nose
.
“
If
you
cross
the
sink
here
this
night
,
”
the
Fremen
said
,
“
you
must
not
use
shields
.
There
is
a
break
in
the
wall
.
.
.
.
”
He
turned
on
his
heels
,
pointed
south
.
“
.
.
.
there
,
and
it
is
open
sand
down
to
the
erg
.
Shields
will
attract
a
.
.
.
.
”
He
hesitated
.
“
.
.
.
worm
.
They
don
’
t
often
come
in
here
,
but
a
shield
will
bring
one
every
time
.
”
He
said
worm
,
Hawat
thought
.
He
was
going
to
say
something
else
.
What
?
And
what
does
he
want
of
us
?
Hawat
sighed
.
He
could
not
recall
ever
before
being
this
tired
.
It
was
a
muscle
weariness
that
energy
pills
were
unable
to
ease
.
