Curdie also lay down, but, from the pain of his wounds, there was no sleep for him.

When the light came he found his clothes a good deal torn and his skin as well, but gladly wondered why the wicked birds had not at once attacked his eyes.

Then he turned, looking for Lina.

She rose and crept to him.
But she was in far worse plight than he--plucked and gashed and torn with the beaks and claws of the birds, especially about the bare part of her neck, so that she was pitiful to see.

And those worst wounds she could not reach to lick.
'Poor Lina!' said Curdie, 'you got all those helping me.' She wagged her tail, and made it clear she understood him.