By Timothy Barnes
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Extra info for A Note on the term Homoousios
Dragur followed him to the door, pointed out the nearest roll walk. He did not reenter the house until Troy was several paces away. Probably, thought Horan bitterly, he just wants to make sure a Dippleman is well off the premises. But this was not the end of a day of minor irritations and disappointments. The morning had begun so well with the awakening in the lodge of the Wild. It was ending in the evening in Tikil with his re-entering the shop to discover Zul very much the master of the cage room.
And the fussel arose in great sweeps, beating into the topaz sky until neither man could see him clearly. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------Chapter Seven The sun was hot, and from under and around Troy as he lay, the smell of the grass flowers and the grass itself was heady in his nostrils, long pinched by the town and the Dipple. He was relaxed, drowsy, yet not ready to sleep. It had been a wonderful morning on this piece of Korwar raised into the skies and kept inviolate.
Here. Out—” Not really words, rather impressions—a signal, a plea. Troy’s eyes opened; he sat up— and that whisper of contact was gone. Angry at his own lack of control, he settled himself once more on the bunk, tried again to tap that band of communication. “Out—out—danger—” He lay, hardly breathing, trying to hold that line. “Out—” Yes, it was a plea; he was certain of that. But there was no way of discovering from whom or from where it came. He might have stumbled upon a small loop of rope in the middle of a large room, to be told to find the coil from which it had been cut.
A Note on the term Homoousios by Timothy Barnes