They came to a cleared space of waist-high grass. It was like a canyon steeply walled by cliffs of verdure. The litter jerked as it glided along, and Koroby heard one of the bearers exclaim gruffly, "Listen!" Then the litter resumed its dream-like floating on the backs of the men. "What was it?" another bearer asked. "Thought I heard something," the other replied. "Shrill and high--like something screaming--" Koroby peered out. "A _gnau_?" she asked. "I don't know," the bearer volunteered. Koroby lifted a hand. "Stop the litter," she said. * * * * * The conveyance halted. Koroby leaning out, the men peering around them, they listened. One of the bearers shouted at the musicians; the music ceased. There was nothing to be heard except the whisper of the breeze in the grass. Then the girl heard it--a shrill, distant whine, dying away, then growing louder--and louder--it seemed to be approaching--from the sky-- All the faces were lifted up now, worriedly. The whine grew louder--Koroby's hands clenched nervously on the wreaths at her throat-- Then, far ahead, a series of bright flashes, like the lightning of the dust-storms, but brilliantly green. A silence, then staccatto reports, certainly not thunder--unlike any sound that Koroby had ever heard. There was a babble of voices as the musicians crowded together, asking what had it been, and where--just exactly--could one suppose it had happened, that thunder--was it going to storm! They waited, but nothing further happened--there were no more stabs of green light nor detonations. The bearers stooped to lift the litter's poles to their shoulders. "Shall we go on?" one of them asked Koroby. She waved a hand. "Yes, go on." The litter resumed its gentle swaying, but the music did not start again. Then, from the direction of the light-flashes, a glow appeared, shining steadily, green as the flashes had been. Noticing it, Koroby frowned. Then the path bent, and the glow swung to one side. Suddenly Koroby reached out, tapped the shoulder of the closet bearer. "Go toward the light." His face swung up to hers. "But--there's no path that way--" "I don't care," she said. "Take me there." Her order had reached the others' ears, and they slowed their pace. "Lady--believe me--it's impossible. There's nothing but matted jungle in that direction--we'd have to hack our way as we go along. And who knows how far away that light is? Besides, you're on your way to be married." "Take me to that light!" she persisted. They set the litter down. "We can't do that," one man said to another. Koroby stepped out to the path, straightened up, her eyes on the glow. "You'd better," she said ominously. "Otherwise, I'll make a complaint to Yasak--" The men eyed each other, mentally shrugging. "Well--" one yielded.