On a heavy mahogany dresser lay two worn volumes that he touched affectionately.

One was his Caesar and the other his algebra.

Once he had hated both, but now he thought of them tenderly as links with, the peaceful boyhood that was slipping away.

Hanging from a hook on the wall was an unstrung bow, the first weapon of the kind with which he had practiced under the teaching of Tayoga.

He passed his hand over it gently and felt a thrill at the touch of the wood.
Tayoga, also was moving about the room.