Tharn's thoughts were far afield. Soon—another sun, in fact—Dylara and he would be on their way to the caves of Tharn. And Katon would go with them—Katon, his good friend.
The blue-eyed Sepharian and he would hunt in the forests with Barkoo and Korgul and Torbat. Katon would teach them to use the bow. Perhaps his friend would find a mate among the girls of the tribe. Then in truth would they be as blood-brothers!
How wonderful it would be to have such a companion! Always before he had spent much of his time alone, ranging the jungles for the adventures he craved. In all his tribe there had not been one he was drawn to; none he liked and respected enough to adopt as an intimate. Barkoo, of course, came closest to being such; but Barkoo carried far more years than he, and was given to the conservatism of old men.
The others were so far short of his own physical and mental stature. They could not race at break-neck speed through tree tops; they could not scent game from afar; they feared the great cats, unless in the company of many warriors.
It would be different, now. He would teach Katon the forest lore that had made Tharn master of the wild places. They would be always together—inseparable.
Only a few minutes of daylight remained when Tharn and his burden reached the forest's edge near the base of the sheer cliff between them and Sephar. Tharn realized they could not hope to complete the ascent before the light failed; so, selecting a tall tree, he fashioned a rude platform of branches high above the ground and covered it with leaves as a comfortable bed for the princess.
As for himself, he curled in a crotch of the same tree, a few feet beneath her, and, after waiting until she had ceased turning uneasily on her primitive couch, dropped off to sleep.
The sun had barely cleared the eastern horizon when Alurna opened her eyes. For a long moment she gazed blankly at the ceiling of vegetation; then memory returned and she rose to her feet on the lattice of boughs that had served as her bed.
Something of the beauty of the untamed forest came to her as she stood there, drinking in the sea of green through sleep-freshened eyes. An early morning breeze stirred the vast expanse of leaves like an invisible hand; multi-colored birds flashed among the myriad branches and festooned vines, uttering strident cries or now and then surprising her with a burst of melody from some feathered throat. Already familiar were the ever-present troops of sure-footed monkeys, swinging and racing among the tree-top terraces—chattering, scolding, inquisitive.