By noon the sun's heat had become so oppressive that she stopped in the shelter of a tree to rest. She was tempted to climb into the branches and sleep for a while; but the thought of being forced to spend another night in this wilderness drove away that temptation. It could not be much farther, she reasoned, before the base of the great plateau about Sephar was reached.
Her sweat-streaked face set in stubborn lines, the daughter of Urim stepped once more into the trail and plodded doggedly on. And every step was taking her farther and farther from her home.
It was not long after, that Tarlok, the leopard, his belly empty from a night of fruitless hunting, caught scent of her. Slowly, with infinite stealth, he slunk upwind, keeping within the jungle's edge until he caught sight of the girl's bowed shoulders.
Tarlok's jowls dripped with anticipation. Of all creatures known to him, none was more easily taken than man. A quick stalk, a sudden spring—and once again Tarlok would feed.
Nearer and nearer he approached, moving warily lest the girl take alarm and climb high into some tree. When almost abreast of her, he boldly stepped into the trail, not ten feet behind his unsuspecting prey.
It was then that Alurna, warned perhaps by some subtle sense, turned around.
Vulcar of Sephar and his band of twenty warriors having safely descended the precipice at the same point where Alurna had inched her way down earlier that day, assembled at the mouth of a pathway into the unchartered wood before them.
"They probably came this way," Vulcar said. "Look about for some sign of their passage."
A few minutes later a shout of triumph from one of the party brought the others to his side. He was pointing to a mark in the trail's dust—the large square imprint of a great flat foot, grotesquely human.