Atalapha, a Winged Brownie 
ATALAPHA MEETS WITH SILVER-BROWN 
The Thunder Moon was passing now. Atalapha 
was well and strong as ever, yes, more than ever 
before. He was now in his flush of prime. His 
ample wings were longest in the tribe, his fur was 
full and rich; and strong in him was a heart of 
courage, a latent furnace of desire. Strange im- 
pulses and vague came on him at times. So he 
went careering over the mountains, or fetching 
long, sweeping flights over the forest lakes from 
Far Champlain to Placid’s rippling blue. 
The exuberant joy of flight was perhaps the 
largest impulse, but the seeking for change, the 
hankering for adventure were there. 
He sailed a long way toward Marcy Mount one 
night, and was returning in the dawning when he 
was conscious of nearing a place of peril. A dull 
glow in the valley ahead—the Unknown Death. 
And he veered to the west to avoid that invisible 
column of poison, when far to the east of him 
he heard a loud screeching, and peering toward the 
broad band of day that lay behind the eastern hill- 
tops, he saw a form go by at speed with a larger 
one behind it. 
Curiosity, no doubt, was the first motive to draw 
him near, and then he saw a Bat, one of his own 
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