ease.

"Truly," said Peroo, thickly, "and no small ones."

"What are they, then? I do not see clearly."

"The Gods. Who else? Look!"

"Ah, true! The Gods surely - the Gods." Findlayson smiled as his
head fell forward on his chest. Peroo was eminently right.
After the Flood, who should be alive in the land except the Gods
that made it - the Gods to whom his village prayed nightly - the
Gods who were in all men's mouths and about all men's ways. He
could not raise his head or stir a finger for the trance that
held him, and Peroo was smiling vacantly at the lightning.

The Bull paused by the shrine, his head lowered to the damp
earth. A green Parrot in the branches preened his wet wings and
screamed against the thunder as the circle under the tree filled
with the shifting shadows of beasts. There was a black Buck at
the Bull's heels-such a Buck as Findlayson in his far-away life
upon earth might have seen in dreams - a Buck with a royal head,
ebon back, silver belly, and gleaming straight horns. Beside
him, her head bowed to the ground, the green eyes burning under
the heavy brows, with restless tail switching the dead grass,
paced a Tigress, full-bellied and deep-jowled.

The Bull crouched beside the shrine, and there leaped from the
darkness a monstrous grey Ape, who seated himself man-wise in
the place of the fallen image, and the rain spilled like jewels