It was about the size of a cow. I suppose that it fulfilled the same kind of function as a cow. It lay in an open space which had been methodically cleared of all undergrowth—the site of the Anacaon encampment. The trail that the forest people had left when they had decided to move on was like a major highway. It wasn’t wide—these people respected the country code and walked in a tight column, using each other’s footprints—but it had sure been walked on by a lot of feet. It would take the forest a week or two to reclaim it. ‘Is the cropper still fresh?’ I asked Micheal. It had seemed that way to me, but I thought I’d better check. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but we’d better cook the meat well.’ ‘It didn’t die of anything horrible, did it?’ I asked. ‘Does it signify anything that the forest people left it untouched?’ He shook his head slightly. ‘I don’t know,’ he said slowly. ‘I think it might mean....’ He hesitated, and I completed the thought for him.
