Yorgh gripped the point of the rough, battle-chipped horn that suddenly appeared beside his ribs, and leaned his weight upon it in hopes of guiding the bigger animal past. Then he caught a fleeting glimpse of a dense clump of scrub growth thrusting out from the vegetation screening the brook. Before he could shift his weight, his wolly swerved to the right. Yorgh found himself supported in the air by only a one-handed grip on the kromp's horn. He let his feet bounce against the ground once, reaching for the horn with his other hand. Then the bull tossed his heavy head, and the man sailed high into the air. * * * * * Time hung motionless for an instant, during which there floated to his ears the irritable sounds made by the kromp as it blundered at full speed through the brush. Then Yorgh crashed into the dense thicket on his back, with a ripping and tearing of cloth and a loud yell as some thorny shrub raked his ribs. He thudded straight through to the ground, but with his speed fortunately reduced. "By Kloto, by Lax, and by the seldom-seen Atropo of legend!" he swore. "And if The World has any more moons, by them too! I had done better to stand squarely in their path!" He wiped blood from his left cheek and wriggled about until he thought all his clothing was free. The dark red tunic was shredded, and the heavier wool of his pants was gashed and torn. He loosed a pronged burr from his beard, pulled out a long splinter lodged in the back of his right thigh, and squirmed through the undergrowth on hands and knees until he came to an open swath trampled straight through the hundred-foot clump. The kromp bull had not permitted a little jungle to hinder him. Yorgh pulled himself to his feet and limped back along the freshly made trail to the open. In the distance, he could hear the herd still stampeding. He hoped he had turned it enough so that the kromps' propensity for straight-line charges would cause them to miss the camp. "Well, I'd better see to myself," he sighed. "Left on foot twice in three days! Some will have a good time with me over that. Ouch! That knee feels skinned." He made his way to the brook, where he stripped and bathed. As the water stung them, he discovered nicks and scratches he had not known he had, but he felt better after dressing again. He patched the worst slashes in his pants with a long thorn and a bit of vine, but the proud crimson tunic was a tattered wreck. It fluttered on his shoulders as he walked out into the open again. On the ground, his sharp eye noticed trampled splinters of wood. "The spear!" he muttered. "Funny--I can't even remember when I dropped it." He searched the area, and finally dug up the copper spearhead with the toe of his boot. He put it in his belt and walked out to his fire beside the carcass of the loppa, feeling fairly fit although he knew he would be stiff and sore the next day. His fire still smouldered, and he piled on some dry sticks.