There was a crunching sound from splintering bones, one last nerve-tearing cry of agony and fear—and Pryak, the ambitious, was gone to his reward.
As the guests stood staring down at the broken form, a thin trickle of blood appeared at one corner of Tharn's mouth and coursed to his chin. Dazedly he lifted a hand to wipe away the stain, then his knees gave way, and before the paralyzed company could prevent, Tharn, the son of Tharn, had pitched to the floor.
When complete consciousness first returned, he was aware of a great mound of soft skins beneath him; and he opened tired eyes to a sun-flooded room. For a little while he was content to remain so, staring at the stone ceiling.
Later, he slowly turned his head and looked into the eyes of Nada. For a few minutes mother and son did not speak; then she reached out to touch his hand.
"You have come back to us, Tharn," she said softly.
Tharn pondered over her remark. When he spoke he was startled by the feebleness of his voice.
"How long have I lain here?"
"Half a moon."
"Half a—!" He sought to sit up, but sank back as a stabbing pain shot through his chest.