The travelers in the distance are making no haste.  Their progress is like watching an ant carve a tunnel out of a mass of sand.<br/><br/>They shuffle.  They weave.  They squirm.  They seem to go nowhere.<br/><br/>She estimates it will be about fifteen minutes before they arrive.  The cool of the watchtower nest seems to be in no hurry either.  It puts its soft, enveloping kiss on Masina and keeps it there.  Even the dust seems to settle in a starry pallet of dozing on the bed of the plank floor.<br/><br/>A tickle of sound intrudes from what seems mercifully far away, as the sound of the house door opening announces Anastasius' exit into the outdoors.