"Look!" he exclaimed. "There, in the mud. See those marks? She sat here, bathing her feet. And here!—here are the prints of bare feet."
Jotan, following the pointing finger, nodded, his handsome face shining. "They must be hers. Are they recent, Modilk?"
"So recent," said the long-faced Modilk solemnly, "that the slave-girl must be within a few minutes of us."
Javan spoke now, his voice worried. "Where are we to spend the night, Jotan? The big cats will be hunting soon; we must find a safe place."
Jotan slapped his friend's shoulder comfortingly. "We'll find Dylara first," he said, "then make camp for the night. A circle of brush fires will keep the lions and leopards away."
The eight men waded the stream, not bothering to remove their sandals, and pressed on into the north.
While a stone's throw behind them, aloft in the branches of a leafy tree, slept the girl they were seeking.