To the south ran a thick patch of forest, but I saw beyond it the spur of the mountain over which runs the highroad to Wesselsburg.

The clear air of dawn was like wine in my blood.

I was not free, but I was on the threshold of freedom.

If I could only reach my friends with the Prester's collar in my shirt, I would have performed a feat which would never be forgotten.
I would have made history by my glorious folly.

Breakfastless and footsore, I was yet a proud man as I crossed the hollow to the mouth of Machudi's glen.
My chickens had been counted too soon, and there was to be no hatching.
Colin grew uneasy, and began to sniff up wind.