With a sob of courage and fear, he plunged toward it.
He must come to grips with that other Thorn, settle accounts with him, even the balance of pleasure and pain between them, right the wrong of their unequal lives. For in some sense he must be that other Thorn, and that other Thorn must be he. And a man could not be untrue to himself.
The wraithlike face receded as swiftly as he advanced.
His progress through the forest became a nightmarish running of the gauntlet, through a double row of giant black trees that slashed him with their branches.
The face kept always a few yards ahead.
Fear came, but too late—he could not stop.
The dreamy veils that had been drawn across his thoughts and memories during the first stages of his flight from the Opal Cross, were torn away. He realized that what was happening to him was the same thing that had happened to hundreds of other individuals. He realized that an alien mind was displacing his own, that another invader and potential cryptic amnesiac was gaining a foothold on Earth.
The thought hit him hard that he was deserting Clawly, leaving the whole world in the lurch.
But he was only a will-less thing that ran with outclutched hands.