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Book Two: Muad‘dib
Chaniwhohadjustlostherfather.
We’realikeinthat,hethought.
Awailingcrysoundedfromtheoutercorridors,itsvolumemuffledbytheinterveninghangings.Itwasrepeated,abitmoredistant.Andagain.Paulrealizedsomeonewascallingthetime.Hefocusedonthefactthathehadseennoclocks.
Thefaintsmellofburningcreosotebushcametohisnostrils,ridingontheomnipresentstinkofthesietch.Paulsawthathehadalreadysuppressedtheodorousassaultonhissenses.
Andhewonderedagainabouthismother,howthemovingmontageofthefuturewouldincorporateher...andthedaughtershebore.Mutabletime-awarenessdancedaroundhim.Heshookhisheadsharply,focusinghisattentionontheevidencesthatspokeofprofounddepthandbreadthinthisFremenculturethathadswallowedthem.
Withitssubtleoddities.
Hehadseenathingaboutthecavernsandthisroom,athingthatsuggestedfargreaterdifferencesthananythinghehadyetencountered.
Therewasnosignofapoisonsnooperhere,noindicationoftheiruseanywhereinthecavewarren.Yethecouldsmellpoisonsinthesietchstench—strongones,commonones.
Heheardarustleofhangings,thoughtitwasHarahreturningwithfood,andturnedtowatchher.Instead,frombeneathadisplacedpatternofhangings,hesawtwoyoungboys—perhapsagednineandten—staringoutathimwithgreedyeyes.Eachworeasmallkindjal-typeofcrysknife,restedahandonthehilt.
AndPaulrecalledthestoriesoftheFremen—thattheirchildrenfoughtasferociouslyastheadults.
