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a thousand
insects floated about its surface or crawled along its bottom.
Death lived there, too. Giant crayfish snapped horny claws at the
unwary. Mosquitos of four-inch wingspread sometimes hummed above
the river. They were dying out for lack of the plant juices on which
males of the species lived, but even so they were formidable. Burl had
learned to crush them with fragments of fungus.
He crept furtively through the forest of misshapen toadstools, brownish
fungus underfoot. Strange orange, red, and purple molds clustered
about the bases of the creamy toadstool stalks. Burl paused to run his
sharp-pointed weapon through a fleshy stalk and reassure himself that
his plan was practicable.
He heard a tiny clicking, and froze into stillness. It was a troop of five
heavily laden ants, each eight inches long, returning to their city. They

moved swiftly along the route marked with black, odorous formic acid
exuded from the bodies of their comrades. Burl waited until they
passed, then went on.
He came to the bank of the river. Green scum covered much of its
surface, occasionally broken by a slowly enlarging gas bubble released
from decomposing matter on the bottom. In the center of the placid
stream the current ran faster, and the water itself was visible.
Over the shining current, water-spiders ran swiftly. They had not
shared in the general increase in size of the insect world. Depending on
surface tension to support them, an increase in size and weight would
have deprived them of the means of locomotion.
From the spot where Burl peered at the water, green scum spread out
many yards into the stream. He could not see what swam, wriggled,
and crawled beneath the evil-smelling covering. He looked up and
down the banks.
150 yards downstream, an outcropping of rock made a steep descent to
the river, from which shelf-fungi stretched out. Dark red and orange
above, light yellow below, they formed a series of platforms above the
smoothly flowing stream. Burl moved cautiously toward them.
En route he saw one of the edible mushrooms that formed most of his
diet, and paused to break from the flabby flesh an amount that would
feed him for many days. Often, his people would find a store of food,
carry it to their hiding place, then gorge themselves for days, eating,
sleeping, eating, sleeping until all was gone.
Burl was tempted to abandon his plan. He would give Saya of this food,
and they would eat together. Saya was the maiden who roused unusual
emotions in Burl when she was near, strange impulses to touch and
caress her. He did not understand.
He went on, after hesitating. If he brought her food, Saya would be
pleased, but if he brought her of the things that swam in the stream, she
would be more pleased. Degraded as his tribe had become, Burl was

yet a little more intelligent. He was an atavism, a throwback to
ancestors who had cultivated the earth and subjugated its animals. He
had a vague remnant of pride, unformed but potent.
Burl's people herded together in a leaderless group, coming to the same
hiding place to share the finds of the lucky and gather comfort in
numbers. They had no weapons. They bashed stones against the limbs
of insects they found partly devoured, cracking them open for what
scraps of sweet meat remained inside, but sought safety from enemies
solely in flight and hiding. If Burl did what no man before had done, if
he brought a whole carcass to his tribe, they would admire him.
He reached the rocky outcropping and lay prostrate, staring into the
water's shallow depths. A huge crayfish, as long as Burl, leisurely
crossed his vision. Small fishes and even huge newts fled before the
voracious creature.
Eventually the tide of underwater life resumed its activity. The
wriggling dragonfly grubs reappeared. Little flecks of silver swam into
view--a school of tiny fish. A larger fish appeared, moving slowly.
Burl's eyes glistened; his mouth watered. He reached down with his
long weapon. It barely touched the water. Disappointment filled him,
yet the nearness and apparent practicability of his scheme spurred him
on.
He considered the situation. The shelf-fungi were below him. He rose
and moved to a point just above them, then thrust his spear down. They
resisted its point. Burl tested them tentatively with his foot, then dared
to trust his weight to them. They held firmly. He clambered onto them
and lay flat, again peering over the edge.
The large fish, as long as Burl's arm, swam slowly to and fro below.
Burl had seen the former owner of his spear strive to thrust it into an
opponent. So when the fish swam by, he thrust sharply downward. To
Burl's astonishment, the spear seemed to