Then, there were just two naked women, who carried all they had in skin pouches secured by leather straps over their shoulders. ‘Just where the fuck...are we going?’ Demure asked bitterly. Glade smiled. Demure’s anger at her predicament gave the women the strength to ward off despair. But all it took for hope to vanish was to gaze beyond the mottled shade of scrubby bushes between which they darted across the dusty, sometimes sandy, soil. Beyond was an unforgiving endless barren plain. Glade. One by one, he extracted two stout chunks of limb, forked, evidently from the scrub oaks that grew further inland on the slopes of the rising ground, a reasonably straight, forkless staff, and four shorter chunks. He trimmed the forks and the staff, breaking off excess growth with a rock slab, then grinned at Myra and started back to the sandy area.He drove the forked branches deeply into the sand, forks up. Grunting and sweating to work them the last few inches, he left the forks standing. More

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