Paul stopped abruptly on a rock shelf, steadied his mother as she stumbled into him.
He was pointing left and she looked along his arm to see that they stood atop a cliff with the desert stretched out like a static ocean some two hundred meters below.
[…]
“Open desert,” she said.
“A wide place to cross,” Paul said.
[…]
“There’s a way to get safely across that open sand,” Paul said. “The Fremen do it. […] If we crossed there making only natural sounds, the kind that don’t attract the worms. . . .”
“It’d have to be sounds without rhythm,” Jessica said.