The water was running toward the matriarch’s sleeping place.
Ysabet had mistaken the shallow bowl beneath a spreading trunk for an old wallow. Now, with the thin stream creeping toward it, she could see the carefully pressed bed of leaves, the ridge where a heavy body habitually rested, the smaller nest beside it.
Suth pointed out a drier run between two roots.
“We can turn it there.”
“Can we?” Ashaun asked. “Or will something else want an afternoon of digging?”
“That depends how badly we do it.”
The answer did not inspire confidence, but the work was plain enough. They needed a shallow trench around the sleeping bowl, a low barrier to keep the loose bank from washing into it, and somewhere for the water to sink without drowning the fungus roots.
Chaska began by drawing all three in the mud. Suth corrected the last with the end of her stick.
