The sky was deep and blue and bare of clouds. The sun shone down bright and unhindered, but its warmth was fleeting, carried away by the fretting and inconstant late October wind. Dry and fallen leaves were whisked up quickly into whirlwinds, only to be abandoned with equal suddenness, left to drift back to earth as they would. The aged and wind swept granite thrusts bore countless lichen edged crevices, filled with the same brown and lifeless needles that covered the ground wherever rock or pine, or holly did not. The air was cool and clear, but altogether void of fragrance. The meeting place had been well chosen. A wide and shallow bowl at the very crown of the Hill, carved by nature from the rock that formed its bones, it commanded an unobstructed view for miles in all directions. Beyond the reach of all but the hardiest pines, it lay bare and open to the sky above. Here sun by day and star by night were free both to see and be seen by the descendants of a race as old as conscious thought upon the Earth. It is a fitting place to die, thought Akar solemnly. He rested now upon the southern promontory which stood out from the edge of the bowl like the horn of a saddle, waiting for his foe to reappear from the cover of overhanging branches into which he had vanished from view. By now he must surely be aware of his presence. But he knew Shar-hai would do nothing in haste. So arching his head skyward like the wolves of old, he let out a long, dispassionate howl, issuing his challenge to whatever ears might choose to hear it. He felt new strength and courage coming to him from out of the Hill, from the roots of stone and past, and he vowed again not to surrender his spirit until every chance to kill or injure the usurper had been utterly spent. Now less than two hundred yards away on the slope below, the guard responded with angry growls and defiance. For they still detected only one forbidden scent. Only Shar-hai showed restraint, held back by the measured caution of one who had lived his life in subtle but constant fear of retribution. Not that he feared Akar's challenge. He had no intention of abiding by any rules or code of honor in dealing with his brave but foolish opponent. He knew that if at any point he faltered, his guard would not hesitate to join the fray. But still he was uneasy. He had slept poorly two nights before, and trembled in the shadows of a dark vision. In his dreams---he had not slept again since---he walked through a bleak forest of eternal night, the black trunks of the trees gnarled and twisted like misshapen statues, wrapped about the feet with a chill mist that rose to a fog and blanketed the horizons, giving all distance a feeling of timelessness and endlessness. He walked alone, feeling lost: hungry, no matter how many times he killed. He stalked and slew first one beast and then another, with none to rise up against him, and none to mourn the loss of the fallen.