Indeed, it was the
peril of these Winter-sleeping creatures that made him most uneasy in
thoughts of the coming Spring.
His anger and fear merged into maddening exasperation, but still the
tiger plodded forward, heedless. It reached the dark overhang of
sandstone and gazed back at him. Yet again he repeated the gestures of
withdrawal, made unable by the consequences to speak. The tiger nodded
its understanding, or seemed to, but then to his horror and final
consternation, dove headlong into the grinning maw of death.
Once again Kalus was faced with the terrible choice: loyalty to one he
loved, or survival for himself. He stood trembling on the threshold,
frozen with fear and burning with inner conflict. He looked back upon
the sunlit world and thought of his home: of his woman, and the cub.
But what kind of home would it be if he abandoned his friend at greatest
need? Swallowing hard a cry of rage to deaf gods, he drew out the ready
steel of his sword, and plunged into darkness.
*
The hollow funnel of the passage had been worn flat by the years, and by
the constant passing of the inscrutable reptiles. Kalus saw and heard
nothing---only the pounding of his heart, and the gentle rasp of his fur
boots against the life-dry sandstone. He moved by sense of feel and
air, in times of doubt probing ahead of him with the sword.
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