and beckoned Kit to follow him. Kit was led across the clearing to the biggest bower in the camp; a log lay lengthwise across the entrance and, before the log, a ring of large river stones encircled a heap of glowing charcoal embers. The setup was exactly the sort of bivouac Boy Scouts would have fashioned for a forest jamboree—a generous hearth with benches.
It was almost dark in the glade, though patches of sky glimpsed through holes in the leaf canopy still held a bit of pale pink. Kit was made to sit on the log while dry branches were broken up and tossed onto the smouldering embers of the previous fire. In no time, the glade was lit with a flame that continued to grow as more and more wood was thrown onto the pile. The older primitives busied themselves with some activity or other—huddled together as they were, Kit could not see what they were doing—but while their elders worked, the younger ones gathered around to watch Kit watch the fire.
Presently, a long green reed was produced on which was threaded strings of meat. Kit did not see what kind of animal produced these gobbets, but it was red and fresh. More of these makeshift spits appeared and were put into the fire, and soon the entire group was sitting around the ring toasting meat on thin skewers. The scent of sizzling fat and meat juice brought the water to Kit’s mouth, and though he was seated in what was surely a place of honour, everyone ignored him. Apparently, where important matters of life were concerned—such as cooking and eating—ceremony could wait.
When the first skewer was done, Big Hunter took it and bit off a healthy chunk. The others watched him as he chewed. He gave a lift of his chin and everyone else proceeded to pull their spits from the fire and commenced to eat. Rising from his place at the fire, the chief came to Kit and held the reed out to him. Kit, nodding and smiling, reached to take it; he pulled a morsel of roasted meat from the charred reed and popped it into his mouth, much to the delight of the others.
Big Hunter made a rumbling noise and took up two more uncooked skewers; one he gave to Kit, keeping the other for himself. He sat down on the log beside his guest and then, with gestures and grunts, instructed Kit in the art of cooking meat on a reed. Kit proved himself to be a ready and able student—as if he required any schooling—and his evident ability to feed himself so expertly seemed to meet with the approval of the gathering. The others murmured among themselves and, with much nudging and many a sly glance, let Kit know they were discussing him.
As grateful as he was for the food and the chance to sit and rest a little, Kit could not help feeling that his next act must be to escape. There was little hope for that, he decided, while they were all still watching him. He would have to wait until the camp was asleep to make his move.
Kit planned to return to the ley line and find a place to wait for Wilhelmina to show up—if she was not there already. If he had done that in the first place he would not be in this improbable situation now. Just thinking about how Mina was no doubt searching high and low for him, muttering dark oaths against his name—deservedly so, he had to admit—made him that much more eager to be on his way.
Then another and altogether worse thought occurred to him: maybe he had already missed her. What if she had arrived as planned, seen that he was not there, and promptly left again to search somewhere else? What then?
It did not bear thinking about—so he tried not to, but the glum thought cast him into an apprehensive and fretful mood. The meal went on for a considerable time, and at a pace that could only be described as leisurely. Kit grew increasingly anxious to be on his way. When at last the younger primitives began to drowse and fall asleep, some of the older ones picked them up and carried them into the nearby bowers. Finally, as the food disappeared, the others drifted off—most to bed down in the shelter of their leafy hovels, but a few of the young males simply curled up in the root hollows