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“
One
should
never
presume
one
is
the
sole
object
of
a
hunt
,
”
the
Fremen
said
.
“
Watch
the
other
side
of
the
basin
.
You
will
see
a
thing
.
”
Time
passed
.
Some
of
Hawat
’
s
men
stirred
,
whispering
.
“
Remain
silent
as
frightened
animals
,
”
the
Fremen
hissed
.
Hawat
discerned
movement
near
the
opposite
cliff
—
flitting
blurs
of
tan
on
tan
.
“
My
little
friend
carried
his
message
,
”
the
Fremen
said
.
“
He
is
a
good
messenger
—
day
or
night
.
I
’
ll
be
unhappy
to
lose
that
one
.
”
The
movement
across
the
sink
faded
away
.
On
the
entire
four
to
five
kilometer
expanse
of
sand
nothing
remained
but
the
growing
pressure
of
the
day
’
s
heat
—
blurred
columns
of
rising
air
.
“
Be
most
silent
now
,
”
the
Fremen
whispered
.
A
file
of
plodding
figures
emerged
from
a
break
in
the
opposite
cliff
,
headed
directly
across
the
sink
.
To
Hawat
,
they
appeared
to
be
Fremen
,
but
a
curiously
inept
band
.
He
counted
six
men
making
heavy
going
of
it
over
the
dunes
.
