Pan-at-lee crept stealthily along the rim of the Kor-ul-lul.
Just where her father and brothers would watch she did not know.
Sometimes their spies remained upon the rim, sometimes they watched
from the gorge's bottom. Pan-at-lee was at a loss to know what to
do or where to go. She felt very small and helpless alone in the
vast darkness of the night. Strange noises fell upon her ears. They
came from the lonely reaches of the towering mountains above her,
from far away in the invisible valley and from the nearer foothills
and once, in the distance, she heard what she thought was the bellow
of a bull gryf. It came from the direction of the Kor-ul-gryf. She
shuddered.
Presently there came to her keen ears another sound. Something
approached her along the rim of the gorge. It was coming from above.
She halted, listening. Perhaps it was her father, or a brother.
It was coming closer. She strained her eyes through the darkness.
She did not move--she scarcely breathed. And then, of a sudden,
quite close it seemed, there blazed through the black night two
yellow-green spots of fire.
Pan-at-lee was brave, but as always with the primitive, the darkness
held infinite terrors for her. Not alone the terrors of the known
but more frightful ones as well--those of the unknown. She had
passed through much this night and her nerves were keyed to the
highest pitch--raw, taut nerves, they were, ready to react in an
exaggerated form to the slightest shock.
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