King Hiram and Galé lay heavily on the matting of my room. Leaning on
my elbows beside Tanit-Zerga in the rock-hewn window, I spied the
advance tremors of lightning.
One by one they rose, streaking the now total darkness with their
bluish stripes. But no burst of thunder followed. The storm did not
attain the peaks of Ahaggar. It passed without breaking, leaving us in
our gloomy bath of sweat.
"I am going to bed," said Tanit-Zerga.
I have said that her room was above mine. Its bay window was some
thirty feet above that before which I lay.
She took Galé in her arms. But King Hiram would have none of it.
Digging his four paws into the matting, he whined in anger and
uneasiness.
"Leave him," I finally said to Tanit-Zerga. "For once he may sleep
here."
So it was that this little beast incurred his large share of
responsibility in the events which followed.
Left alone, I became lost in my reflections. The night was black. The
whole mountain was shrouded in silence.
It took the louder and louder growls of the leopard to rouse me from
my meditation.
King Hiram was braced against the door, digging at it with his drawn
claws. He, who had refused to follow Tanit-Zerga a while ago, now
wanted to go out. He was determined to go out.
"Be still," I said to him. "Enough of that. Lie down!"