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An
eider
wind
feathered
Paul
’
s
cheeks
,
ruffled
the
folds
of
his
burnoose
.
But
this
wind
carried
no
threat
of
storm
;
already
he
could
sense
the
difference
.
“
Dawn
soon
,
”
he
said
.
Jessica
nodded
.
“
There
’
s
a
way
to
get
safely
across
that
open
sand
,
”
Paul
said
.
“
The
Fremen
do
it
.
”
“
The
worms
?
”
“
If
we
were
to
plant
a
thumper
from
our
Fremkit
back
in
the
rocks
here
,
”
Paul
said
.
“
It
’
d
keep
a
worm
occupied
for
a
time
.
”
She
glanced
at
the
stretch
of
moonlighted
desert
between
them
and
the
other
escarpment
.
“
Four
kilometers
worth
of
time
?
”
“
Perhaps
.
And
if
we
crossed
there
making
only
natural
sounds
,
the
kind
that
don
’
t
attract
the
worms
.
.
.
.
”
Paul
studied
the
open
desert
,
questing
in
his
prescient
memory
,
probing
the
mysterious
allusions
to
thumpers
and
maker
hooks
in
the
Fremkit
manual
that
had
come
with
their
escape
pack
.
He
found
it
odd
that
all
he
sensed
was
pervasive
terror
at
thought
of
the
worms
.
He
knew
as
though
it
lay
just
at
the
edge
of
his
awareness
that
the
worms
were
to
be
respected
and
not
feared
.
.
.
if
.
.
.
if
.
.
.
.
