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The
woman
pointed
to
the
designs
one
after
the
other
as
fast
as
she
could
move
the
stylus
,
and
the
children
chanted
in
rhythm
with
her
moving
hand
.
Paul
listened
,
hearing
the
voices
grow
dimmer
behind
as
he
moved
deeper
into
the
sietch
with
Harah
.
“
Tree
,
”
the
children
chanted
.
“
Tree
,
grass
,
dune
,
wind
,
mountain
,
hill
,
fire
,
lightning
,
rock
,
rocks
,
dust
,
sand
,
heat
,
shelter
,
heat
,
full
,
winter
,
cold
,
empty
,
erosion
,
summer
,
cavern
,
day
,
tension
,
moon
,
night
,
caprock
,
sandtide
,
slope
,
planting
,
binder
.
.
.
.
”
“
You
conduct
classes
at
a
time
like
this
?
”
Paul
asked
.
Her
face
went
somber
and
grief
edged
her
voice
:
“
What
Liet
taught
us
,
we
cannot
pause
an
instant
in
that
.
Liet
who
is
dead
must
not
be
forgotten
.
It
’
s
the
Chakobsa
way
.
”
She
crossed
the
tunnel
to
the
left
,
stepped
up
onto
a
ledge
,
parted
gauzy
orange
hangings
and
stood
aside
:
“
Your
yali
is
ready
for
you
,
Usul
.
”
Paul
hesitated
before
joining
her
on
the
ledge
.
He
felt
a
sudden
reluctance
to
be
alone
with
this
woman
.
It
came
to
him
that
he
was
surrounded
by
a
way
of
life
that
could
only
be
understood
by
postulating
an
ecology
of
ideas
and
values
.
He
felt
that
this
Fremen
world
was
fishing
for
him
,
trying
to
snare
him
in
its
ways
.
And
he
knew
what
lay
in
that
snare
—
the
wild
jihad
,
the
religious
war
he
felt
he
should
avoid
at
any
cost
.
“
This
is
your
yali
,
”
Harah
said
.
“
Why
do
you
hesitate
?
”
