Resolutely she held, as much as possible, to her sensorial perceptions.

The meaning of Ellen Jorth lying in ambush just to see an Isbel was a conundrum she refused to ponder in the present.

She was doing it, and the physical act had its fascination.

Her ears, attuned to all the sounds of the lonely forest, caught them and arranged them according to her knowledge of woodcraft.
A long hour passed by.

The sun had slanted to a point halfway between the zenith and the horizon.