He heard no sound.
Panic set in.
Rahll's cannibal-pattern contracted and protracted in the black void. The faint blue lines of his form glowed a bit more strongly now than they had before, although the great hunger still shook his frame.
His thought-forms wove in and out in visions of power, a power he had never thought of possessing back in the time of the Great Pattern, a power with which he could absorb everything, every—
And then Rahll's thought-form twisted into a totally unfamiliar shape. And he thought of Hale.
He could picture Hale only vaguely; a big man—man; that was a new term—a big man, whatever a man was, with a deep voice—voice, another new term—and a great temper—temper....
Rahll slowed his pattern in confusion. Man, voice, temper, Hale—all of these; he had never been aware of them before, nor of things like them. Why was he aware of them now?
And then he realized why.