For all their contours the hills look flat and low as dewdrenched we nightwalk out of the primeval forest. Our guns glint a dusky gray in the moonlight; instinctively we merge with new- found shadows. Farther, brown paddies form a maze of linear patterns and sugar cane fields stretch as far as the eyes can see- how alien at first the lowlands of our dreams!   (Fleetingly with yet a longing we cannot name we look back at towering Taganhin majestic above the rugged mountain districts and smile ... )   From afar floats a morning lullaby - there! In clusters of bamboo trees tacked on the silvery slopes In wombs of creeksides mysterious and dark stabs of light undulate from sparse and unfamiliar huts beckoning the Red nomads of night.   "Pasa bilis! " our squad leader motions. We hurry on with winged feet our hearts throbbing wildly as eastward the winds of song draw us nearer, nearer, to the land of the haciendas....