"No, no, Tharn!" cried Nada. "You still are not well. The wound in your back is not completely healed, and the jungle fever left you only a little while ago."
Tharn frowned. He was so very tired. "But—Dylara ... I must go after her. I should have found her before this. I must not lie here while she—"
Then, as an unsupportable weariness flooded his body, he closed his eyes. In another moment he was sleeping soundly.
Another half moon had passed. Today had dawned bright and fair. Dyta, the sun, had pulled his blazing head above the eastern earth-line an hour before, tearing the jungle fog into rapidly dissolving streamers of mist.
A group of three—two men and a woman—walked through twin gates in Sephar's rock walls and moved slowly toward the somber shadows of the jungle south of the city. A few yards short of the green wall they came to a halt on a slight, grass-covered elevation.
"I must leave you here," said young Tharn. "Within a few suns—a moon, at most—I will return. Dylara will be with me."
The older man nodded. "Your mother and I leave for home before long. We shall wait there for you and your mate."
"You will not need to wait long," said the young man confidently.
He placed an arm about the man's wide shoulders, pressed the hand of his mother in silent farewell, then turned and strode toward the wall of verdure and towering forest giants to the south.