Chapter FourThe sun was sailing low in the western sky, as vividly red as Garth’s eyes, turning the narrow wisps of cloud into a ruddy web of light and shadow. The overman admired the uncanny beauty of the scene; the colors seemed brighter, more fiery, than the sunsets of the Northern Waste. He mused as to why this should be so.
His mount seemed unimpressed. It kept its head low, its catlike ears spread, clearly displeased with its surroundings. Garth could hear, very faintly, the crunching of volcanic cinders beneath the warbeast’s huge soft paws, a rather remarkable circumstance. Ordinarily the beast moved as quietly as any lesser feline, its padded feet as silent as the moon.
No wonder, then, that it disliked this strange new country! The sound of its own footsteps was alien, a consta
