He had never
been needed before.
He walked, now passing the mesa that had once, in what seemed another
world, been his home. And he thought, and tried to think, what must be
done. WHAT MUST BE DONE. And how to do it.
Where was Akar? How long before Barabbas would follow? Surely in this
they were not enemies. Which path would the Changed One follow? Surely
he feared the hill-tribe, and would not pass directly in front of their
cave. He was grateful that his head no longer ached and his breath came
easier. He thought of his mother. SYLVIANA.
Such ran the jumble of his thoughts, and the feelings which rose all the
stronger for his efforts to control them.
The wolves, he decided, must have passed on the far side of Carak mesa.
The would follow a small, tree-blinded stream to the hills. The Hill.
There could only be one. I DON'T WANT TO DIE.
'Sylviana.'
*
Kalus sat crouched and still among the twisted bramble that grew,
overshadowed by oak and maple, at the base of the hill. He had reached
the narrow vale first and seen them coming, as he thought, from the
west. He had positioned himself uphill, and downwind of the gentle fold
through which they must pass, betting his life on the skills he had
learned as a boy.
They turned the bend and came closer, scenting the wind.
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