“You know the Woonyak, I see,” WooZan commented. “You hate her. She has wronged you.” Again, the uncanny ability of the Sheep to anticipate Breister’s thoughts annoyed him.
“Hunjah! Do not be annoyed with me, friend,” WooZan said. “It is not my fault that our folk have existed so very long that we know the feelings of the Woonyaks that fall from above. I see your look. I see your tense muscles. It can only be hate. Hate comes when one feels wronged or when one is ignorant. You are not ignorant. You see it is not so difficult. Hunjah!”
Slasher Annie stepped out of the boat, looking around herself in amazement. Breister recognized the feelings of astonishment that he had also felt on first coming into the Golden Grotto. “You now see that you are not so different, yes?” WooZan observed, looking at Breister intently. “All Woonyaks are the same. Hate cannot last here. If you hate you die. There is life only in the WooPeace where hate is impossible. That is why we bring Woonyaks to the Golden Grotto and then to the WooPeace settlement. The true reality becomes clear.”
Annie looked at WooZan with interest. “The fool,” she thought to herself with some creeping feeling of contempt, “this Sheep is nothing but butterflies and air between her ears.”
“Be careful, friend,” WooZan said, turning and looking directly at Annie. “Ignorance is as dangerous as hate here. Those who have lived here in happy peace for centuries are not the fools. The fool is the one who thinks that the WooPeace is foolish. Hunjah!”
Startled at WooZan’s seeming ability to know what she was thinking, Slasher Annie laughed nervously. “Oh, I wasn’t really thinking you were a fool...It’s just such a shock...to find...such a wonderful place to live!” Annie finished.
WooZan sighed. “You cannot flatter us with empty praise. Your praise, today, is ignorant. You do not know your situation. You do not know the WooPeace. So, you praise out of ignorance. In a few days you will say the WooPeace is a wonderful place to live and mean it. Say such a thing then. Hunjah!”
WooZan reached into the boat and pulled out a bundle of sticks. Slapping the bundle on her legs, the Sheep began to chant in a singsong voice. Sometimes she jumped from foot to foot in high arching leaps. Shortly the singing and leaping stopped and WooZan began to get back in her boat. “Farewell, friends,” she said, paddling away. “I have signaled the Fire Beetles that you are here and asked that they not harm you. You will be safe. You have food and fish-oil candles enough for two days. That is usually enough for Woonyaks to flirt with madness and come to the truth. I will return in two days. You will be ready to join the WooPeace then. Hunjah!”
WooZan had hardly paddled out of sight, when Breister said, “I don’t know who you are, Cougar, and I don’t care at this point. I’m leaving this place. You may come with me, or you may stay here. But I’m leaving. So long as we’re here we’re as good as dead. This place is a tomb any way you look at it. It’s pointless for me to hate you in my own tomb. What good is it? I’m leaving. You coming or staying?”
“Just as you say, this is a tomb,” Annie replied. “It is either a real tomb that we can never escape”—she paused and held a fish-oil candle toward Breister’s face—“or it is an illusion with no more reality than the shadows flickering on your face. We will find out which it is. Let’s go!”
“But where do we go?” Annie continued a moment later. “There is water on one side; vertical, smooth walls on the other; and Fire Beetles above us, even if we could go up. Not promising.”
“Wood Cows look to the virtues of the earth,” Breister observed. “Before you came, I was lying here meditating and listening to the sounds of the rock. I heard many openings in the rock. Let me show you.” Breister took a small pronghorn flute from his pocket. “This belongs to my daughter, Helga,” he explained. “She’s been teaching me to play it. I was playing it here a while ago and noticed that the echoes in this grotto are very interesting—at least to a Wood Cow!” he laughed.
Breister played a series of rough, halting notes from the flute. “You see, I’m not very good,” he commented ruefully. “But listen to the echoes.” He played another series of notes.
“I don’t hear anything interesting,” Annie said, thinking the Cow was perhaps a bit mad already.
“It’s a Wood Cow art,” Breister replied, “and, if you know what to listen for, it is very clear. The echoes tell where there may be openings in the rock.” Breister played several more notes, listening intently.
“The water is shallow over there,” he said, pointing. “If you don’t mind getting wet, I think we will find an opening a few feet below the surface.” That rock wall over there echoes like it is hollow. There are no openings on this side. But perhaps there are some below the water.”