"Speak not, on your life!" she whimpered.
They stood silent, breathing softly. Tyr heard the voices then, harsh voices, where the Tryllans spoke in musical syllables.
"The ardth! They have returned?"
"Yes. They swear to kill you, Tyr. They are hunting you now, along the tunnels to the door."
Tyr bent and swung the girl high on his chest, grinning. "They will never catch Tyr."
Tyr began to run. His legs blurred with the speed of his motion. He stepped out along the grassy slope, and down it, and then was running free on the plains. He heard Fay's gasp as she grew aware of his pace. She buried her head against his shoulder to breathe, and her yellow hair whipped and stung his face as the wind tossed it.
For four hours Tyr ran, not needing to breathe. When he swung the girl down, he was as composed as though he had moved ten feet. Fay stared up at him with warm brown eyes.
"Truly you are a god, Tyr. Only a god could run without effort."
"No god. Only—only—"
He halted. He had no word to describe himself. Neither did the Trylla, except "god." So god he had become, unwillingly; yet he was dimly aware that he was unique among men, that he stood alone.