Haral cast a longing glance back towards his hwalon, still standing at bay amid the crags where they had lost it in their last swift, clashing contact with the beetles.
But darting Q-rays hemmed in the dragon. And here and there between, a head, a leg, a thorax showed.
Haral bit down hard. The coleoptera were hoping they could tempt him to try to regain the hwalon.
For if he tried, he'd die in seconds.
Kyla crept close against him. Her voice shook: "I've lost my way, Haral. Even if the beetles were to leave us, I'd not know how to go."
For an aching moment Haral lay still. "I guessed as much," he said at last. "This running and fighting has pulled us from our path."
"If we could only find one of the pylons of which the old books spoke—"
"Yes. If." Grimly, the blue man fumbled the ray-pistol from his holster and shoved it into Kyla's hand. He gave no sign that he had even caught the tears, the desperation, creeping into her voice. "Here. Take this."
"What—?"