FIVE

Killian frowned at the tracks he saw. They had been following them for almost an hour now. They seemed just plain too big for sandback, when they found a clear print in a patch of thick dust. "Are you sure these are sandback?" he asked his sister.
Ynant copied his frown. "No, now you mention it. I was thinking the same. They're a bit too wide."
Up ahead was a ridgetop. Surely they would see the missing sandback from there. They scrambled up the slope, the same thought in both their minds.
Looking down the far side of the slope at last, they could see a wide valley studded with trees that towered above the scrubland. Further off Killian strained to make out some shaped that could just have been huts, or tents.
"Look!" said Ynant. Closer, just down the slope of the ridge and off to the right, a herd of eswark grazed the thorny bushes. One was waddling away from them. "Eswark tracks! We've been following that eswark!"
Killian nodded, crestfallen. But he knew what this meant. "So this is Seltorm Valley! We made it!" His sister nodded.
A man, a nomad by his cloak and weathered face, strode up the hill to meet them. They soon realised that he was their Uncle Mernan, Aunt Tormuze's brother. Killian took the lead in explaining their journey and their failure to track down the missing sandback.
He nodded sympathetically. "I'll have to go and look for the sandback," he said. "You go down to the tents and get some rest. Then you can go home."



Oh well. Their tracking skills let them down, but at least they didn't get eaten by an eripta! And perhaps they will grab a taste of Aunt Tormuze's cooking before they head home.



THE END
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