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Now
,
the
waiting
.
.
.
.
Paul
turned
,
gently
,
exposed
a
crack
of
sky
beneath
a
crease
in
his
robe
.
He
imagined
the
others
back
along
their
path
doing
the
same
.
He
heard
the
beat
of
the
’
thopter
’
s
wings
before
he
saw
it
.
There
was
a
whisper
of
jetpods
and
it
came
over
his
patch
of
desert
,
turned
in
a
broad
arc
toward
the
ridge
.
An
unmarked
’
thopter
,
Paul
noted
.
It
flew
out
of
sight
beyond
Habbanya
Ridge
.
A
bird
cry
sounded
over
the
desert
.
Another
.
Paul
shook
himself
free
of
sand
,
climbed
to
the
dune
top
.
Other
figures
stood
out
in
a
line
trailing
away
from
the
ridge
.
He
recognized
Chani
and
Stilgar
among
them
.
Stilgar
signaled
toward
the
ridge
.
They
gathered
and
began
the
sandwalk
,
gliding
over
the
surface
in
a
broken
rhythm
that
would
disturb
no
maker
.
Stilgar
paced
himself
beside
Paul
along
the
windpacked
crest
of
a
dune
.
“
It
was
a
smuggler
craft
,
”
Stilgar
said
.
