He shifted his position, walking away several steps, then shifted it a second time.

The bow-string twanged, the arrow leaped upward, and Broken-Tooth, uttering a terrible scream, fell off the branch.

I saw him as he went down, turning over and over, all arms and legs it seemed, the shaft of the arrow projecting from his chest and appearing and disappearing with each revolution of his body.
Sheer down, screaming, seventy feet he fell, smashing to the earth with an audible thud and crunch, his body rebounding slightly and settling down again.

Still he lived, for he moved and squirmed, clawing with his hands and feet.

I remember the Fire-Man running forward with a stone and hammering him on the head...and then I remember no more.
Always, during my childhood, at this stage of the dream, did I wake up screaming with fright--to find, often, my mother or nurse, anxious and startled, by my bedside, passing soothing hands through my hair and telling me that they were there and that there was nothing to fear.
My next dream, in the order of succession, begins always with the flight of Lop-Ear and myself through the forest.