A man in high-fronted metal helmet rode the second disc, the one that was gliding down towards the girl. While Craig watched, he swung out his long black djevoda whip ... tilted his disc till it plummeted like a speeding arrow. Craig raced towards them. Now Narla, too, saw the stranger. She tried to tilt her saucer. But the man in the helmet pancaked his disc down, level ... swung the whip. The lash curled round Narla's wrist. She jerked back in a panic. Tottered. Then her disc tilted and she was sliding--falling-- Craig careened his own carrier down. The stranger's head came round. He clawed for the fire-gun in his belt-holster. Craig shifted sharply. His disc's edge dropped. Before Narla's attacker could twist or duck, the edge hit him. He bounced backward, out into empty air, flailing wildly. The handle of his whip sang by Craig's head. With a desperate lunge, the Earthman caught it ... clung to it while Narla swung in a wide arc beneath him. The stranger's scream died in the thud of his body striking. Sweat-drenched, gasping, Craig maneuvered his own disc down till Narla's feet were on the ground once more. Another moment, and he was stumbling to her, hugging her shaking body to his. "My darling ... my darling...." How long did they stand so? An hour? A minute? Only then, at last, they were no longer shaking. Once more, Craig could taste her lips and smell her fragrance and feel the softness of her hair as it rippled like ripe rangeland grasses. But with that consciousness came other things--a far-off scream ... a panic-straut knot of djevoda, fleeing ... the faint, rank distant scent of the ourobos. Away, beyond the barrier, the amplifier bellowed, "Give up my daughter, Baemae! Give up my daughter and the alien!" * * * * * Narla's cheek was soft against Craig's ... softer than any satin. He kissed her eyes ... tasted the salt of the tears that welled from them. His Narla, crying. Again the amplifier roared its message: "Give up my daughter, Baemae! That is the price of life! Give up my daughter and the alien!" Bleakly, Craig turned and looked back across the grasslands. No longer were they a serfman's refuge. Not now. Not with the ourobos' slime upon them. A flurry of movement caught his eye. Faintly, he heard djevoda bellow panic. The panic that came with the ourobos. The same kind that turned free Baemae into wolves, hunting down his Narla. "If you do not give them up, I'll know my daughter's dead and you will die with her!" the amplifier shrieked. "Give her up, Baemae! Give her up and live! Why should you care what happens to the alien, Nesom?" Why indeed? Tight-lipped, Craig pivoted. His thoughts must have shown on his face, or in his eyes. Narla clung to him--grey eyes tear-filled, lips aquiver. "No, Craig! No!" He held her to him for a moment. Hoarse shouts. Djevoda screaming. Rippling eddies, grey and obscene, amid the green-gold of the grasslands.