He stepped forward, light as a giant cat. He took another step and his foot scraped earth. The sound was minute, almost inaudible, but Glendyn heard. He whirled, his hand flashing toward his girdle. Gaar closed the gap between them in a single leap. His left hand caught Glendyn's wrist, forced the knife back. But Glendyn was a tricky one, hard to hold. He shifted, kicked out, and Gaar stumbled.
The knife was at his throat now. He knocked it aside, drove his fist upward into a soft belly. Glendyn doubled and his jaw met Gaar's other fist as it came up. There was the splintering of bone.
eneath a white, filmy covering she lay, beneath a flimsy veil that pressed gently upon her rounded form. Her limbs were whiter than the veil that covered them. Her hair was black as night. Her lips were redder than in his vision.
A thousand sleeps she had slept, and more. Older than the land from which Gaar had come, and yet she was younger than he. He bent forward and pressed his lips to hers. They were warm and yielding.
"Wake up," Gaar whispered. Then, louder, "Wake up!"
Was she dead? It seemed to him that she stirred, and yet it might have been the flickering light which created an illusion. Now he ran his hand through her hair. His big hands slapped at her cheeks, gently at first and then harder. His voice was insistent, commanding.
Very slowly, then, her eyes opened. Blank and staring, they were, as she hovered on the brink. Gaar's will pulled her to life. The blankness went out of her eyes and was replaced by a sudden gladness.
"You came. I knew you would come."