By early fall, the wanderers were far from Hacienda dela Vega, far from the vestiges of Soaring Hawk’s life as Samuel Hawkins. As he looked back on those days, they seemed almost as a dream. The only realities now were the vastness of the forest in which they now lived and the loneliness growing in his heart.
On a rare bright sunny morning as the two were making their way through the trees, a strange sound came to Soaring Hawk’s ears. Wolf heard it, too, as he stopped and inclined his head in the direction from which it came. It was a constant roar, swelling, receding, then swelling again. Not the roar of an animal, but of something else. They walked forward in the direction of the sound.
As he broke through the trees, Soaring Hawk found himself on a high bluff, a gasp escaping his lips.
