Dying in the desert--stretched, limp and helpless, in the darkening waste--poured out like water on the tawny sand--two specks poised high above him in the deeper orange of the upper sky--a wide-winged vulture hovering and wheeling between the stricken lion and the setting sun. Dying in the desert--grim, dignified, unyielding, like a monarch slain in battle. So formidable in the morning--the herdsman's terror, the archer's dread, the savage wrestler in whose grasp horse and rider went down crushed, mangled, over-matched, like sucking fawn and unweaned child--fierce, tameless, unconquered--a noble adversary for the noblest champions of the plain--but ere the last red streak of evening faded …
Your support pays for translating these classics into more languages.
Support for $12/month DonateSubscribers read with instant translation, without waiting for the free daily limit.