The bushes on the distant hills cast long shadows in the morning glow, stretching across the saline flats until they almost touched the five people making their way forward.
It took them nearly forty minutes to cross five hundred meters of saline ground-Chisen's cane punched through the salt crust three times.
Each time, one of his legs sank in, and Guy grabbed the back of his white coat's collar and hauled him out.
The third time he sank, his right knee struck the edge of the hole in the salt crust, right against the ligament he had strained during the day.
He gritted his teeth without making a sound, but Guy heard the faint click of his teeth meeting.
"Change the order," Guy said.
Before they set off for the fourth time, he moved beside Chisen, grabbed his left upper arm, and steadied him. "I'll walk beside you.
When your cane breaks through, lean toward me."
Chisen did not refuse.
He walked the next three hundred meters even more slowly, tapping the salt crust three times with his cane before every step to make sure there was no hollow beneath it.
Guy stayed half a step to his right, with a fist's width between their shoulders, ready to catch him at any moment.
By the time daylight fully broke, they had left the saline flats and stepped onto the sandy soil of the hills.
On his very first step onto the sand, Chisen felt the difference beneath his feet-the sand was soft, but it did not collapse. Every step found solid footing.
He poked the rubber tip of his cane into the sand, leaving a shallow little pit, then leaned on it and straightened.
A new bruise had formed on the side of his right knee, overlapping yesterday's swelling, but