Knuckles caught up to her easily, of course, but she seemed to have decided to ignore him. There was no speech from her, and though Knuckles tried to prompt her to speak, she gave him no answer.
Knuckles didn't care. He was patient as the trees, constant as the waterworks that kept the island flowing. Always he was at her side, waiting for something—anything—to help him piece together why she was here.
He did a few things to pass the time. He analyzed their previous conversations and determined that his downfall had been her use of words to mean other things. He remembered that he'd been a little rough in dispatching that snake; for a snake of that size, just seeing Knuckles would have stopped it. For amusement, he tracked their course of travel. He was mirthful when he realized that in a quarter of a day, they'd traveled only a few moments' run towards the island's interior. Their course was largely circular, though of course he didn't mention this.
He observed his companion growing weaker and slower. He even helped her over some of the bigger roots and obstacles, though she always shook free as soon as she was over. Eventually, she came to a stop and said, "Do you know where there's some food?"
He'd stopped expecting speech, so he missed most of her words, but he latched onto the word "food". "Yes," he said. "This way." Now he led, and she followed.
He knew intimately the locations of the larger termite mounds on the island; he led her to the closest. He paused a moment to admire the height of the mound before him. He bowed in respect before the industrious termites. Then he drew back a fist and punched into the mound. It disintegrated before him, causing termites to fall onto his glove. He withdrew his glove and, quickly as he could, slurped up quite a few morsels. While they were no threat to him, their tiny jaws incapable of harming his gloves, he didn't want to lose too many of them.
After cleaning his glove of termites, he realized that she was still standing behind him. With the same glove, he plunged back into the termite nest. He then turned to her, extending his hand to her. "Eat," he said.
Her look was impossible for Knuckles to gauge. However, she didn't move to eat. Disappointed again, Knuckles finished off the termites on his glove. No need to let them all escape, he thought.
Maybe she didn't want to eat from the glove he'd used already, he thought next. So this time, he stuck his other fist into the mound. This time, when he extended his fist towards her, she actually backed off a step.
He decided to let her know of his disappointment. "I thought you wanted food," he said in his best tone for disappointment.
"Yes, but termites?"
"Yes. What else would I eat?"
She seemed hesitant, so Knuckles plunged his fist in again. This time he put his hand directly under her nose. She backed off, then—with disgust so obvious even Knuckles could grasp it fully—ate a few of the termites.
She spat, causing Knuckles to jump in surprise. "Nasty," she said, spitting.
Knuckles gave a noncommittal gesture and helped himself to another handful of termites.
With Knuckles encouraging her at every step, she eventually ate an adequate number of termites. Knuckles noticed signs of fatigue in her. "Do you want to sleep?" he asked.
She shook her head up and down. Knuckles took this as an affirmative and led her to a nearby cave. He went in first to make sure it was uninhabited, and was satisfied that no creature had been there for quite some time. "Safe," he said to her. "You can sleep here."
"Doesn't look very comfortable," she said, eyeing the cave.
Another unknown concept, Knuckles thought. "What is comfort?"
"Never mind. Forget it."
Her tone was exasperated, Knuckles thought. She is very fatigued. He let her pass him towards the interior of the cave, but he remained at the mouth. After several long moments, he heard her finally settle down.
He sat at the mouth of the cave, letting the moon shine down upon him. The day's events had upset and challenged him. But as he sat, he drew upon the calm of the night. Everywhere, he could hear insects chirping, primitive animals moving about, the occasional night bird screech. This is my jungle, he thought. And his mind slowly sorted itself, falling into order of its own. Knuckles smiled in contentment. The night was good.
He had no plan for what to do tomorrow. He felt no urgent need for a plan. Besides, any plan would be inaccurate, depending entirely upon the unknown that had entered Knuckles' life—this strange echidna girl.
Knuckles let all his anxieties seep away from him, becoming one with the night, finally banishing the thought of the girl away.