Handbook for Explorers 4

Now it's too late to turn back; the passes
Behind you are blocked with fallen rocks; the plains,
Drowned; and on the sands you crossed, no traces
Of footsteps stay, templates of future plans.
Now figures appear like dots, spare, remote,
That will grow large and strange when they get close,
Till, human eye to human eye, they note
In you, a thing without sense or purpose,
A mushroom person sprung up over night.
You make signs and speak of food and water.
They lead; you follow, nothing to sell or barter,
Bewildered, ready, if needs be to fight
For survival; for you surely cannot tell
If it's fear or hate their cold greetings spell.