Liet froze in awe before scrambling across the slipping sands, holding Maker hooks in both hands.  Even through his stillsuit nose plugs, he smelled sulfur, burned rock, and the potent, acrid esters of melange that oozed from the worm.

He raced along as the beast swallowed the thumper.  Before the worm could bury itself again, Liet lashed out with one of the Maker hooks, securing its glistening end into the leading edge of a ring segment to expose pinkish flesh too tender to touch the abrasive sands.  Then he held on.

Avoiding irritation to the stinging wound between its segments, the worm rolled upward and carried Liet with it.  He reached out with his other hand, slapping down a second Maker hook and embedding it deeper along the segment.  He pulled again to widen the gap.

The worm rose in reflex action, flinching from this further annoyance.