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Updated: May 16, 2025
Stern, meanwhile, clutching his head between both hands, dumb-mad with agony, was choking with dry sobs. "Master! See!" Zangamon held up a piece of splintered wood, with the bark deeply scarred by teeth. Stern snatched it. "Part of the pole I gave her to brace the rock with," he realized. "Even that was of no avail." "Master this way they went!" Zangamon pointed up along the rock-terrace.
Thus for hours at a time, by starlight and moonlight on the rock-terrace or by fire-glow in their cave now homelike with rough-hewn furniture and mats of plaited grass they talked and dreamed and planned.
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