She slept until the heat of the sun

[Larry Burke]

<p>She slept until the heat of the sun <a href="http://hats-
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font></em></strong></a>, high in the heavens, awakened her. She was
rested and now her body was well as her heart was warm. A sensation of
ease and comfort and happiness pervaded her being. She rose upon her
gently swaying couch and stretched luxuriously, her naked limbs and
lithe body mottled by the sunlight filtering through the foliage above
combined with the lazy gesture to impart to her appearance something
of the leopard. With careful eye she scrutinized the ground below and
with attentive ear she listened for any warning sound that might
suggest the near presence of enemies, either man or beast. Satisfied
at last that there was nothing close of which she need have fear she
clambered to the ground. She wished to bathe but the lake was too
exposed and just a bit too far from the safety of the trees for her to
risk it until she became more familiar with her surroundings. She
wandered aimlessly through the forest searching for food which she
found in abundance. She ate and rested, for she had no objective as
yet. Her freedom was too new to be spoiled by plannings for the
future. The haunts of civilized man seemed to her now as vague and
unattainable as the half-forgotten substance of a dream. If she could
but live on here in peace, waiting, waiting for--him. It was the old
hope revived. She knew that he would come some day, if he lived. She
had always known that, though recently she had believed that he would
come too late. If he lived! Yes, he would come if he lived, and if he
did not live she were as well off here as elsewhere, for then nothing
mattered, only to wait for the end as patiently as might be. </p>

<p>Her wanderings brought her to a crystal brook and there she drank
and bathed beneath an overhanging tree that offered her quick asylum
in the event of danger. It was a quiet and beautiful spot and she
loved it from the first <a href="http://hats-
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em></strong></a>. The bottom of the brook was paved with pretty stones
and bits of glassy obsidian. As she gathered a handful of the pebbles
and held them up to look at them she noticed that one of her fingers
was bleeding from a clean, straight cut. She fell to searching for the
cause and presently discovered it in one of the fragments of volcanic
glass which revealed an edge that was almost razor-like. Jane Clayton
was elated. Here, God-given to her hands, was the first beginning with
which she might eventually arrive at both weapons and tools--a cutting
edge. Everything was possible to him who possessed it--nothing
without. </p>

<p>She sought until she had collected many of the precious bits of
stone--until the pouch that hung at her right side was almost filled.
Then she climbed into the great tree to examine them at leisure <a
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hats</font></em></strong></a>. There were some that looked like knife
blades, and some that could easily be fashioned into spear heads, and
many smaller ones that nature seemed to have intended for the tips of
savage arrows. </p>