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smashed into it, demonstrating his power. Instead he felt nothing but a gentle flow of air on his body. He was startled, angry. Then other figures, similar to the first, appeared and repeated the challenge. He attacked again and again, each time expecting the joy of contact, but each time there was nothing. He became aware that the many eyes had developed into a grand encircling voice, mocking his every charge. All was vanity and striving after the wind, And there was no profit under the sun. Bewildered, he found himself running in circles and panting heavily. Next time he would make his mark. Next time they would know his might. Next time, however, the frustration and anger mounted and began to replace courage and inner strength. He stopped, then tried to catch his breath in order to strive again. As he stood confused and wondering what to do next, it was decided for him. He heard another trumpet call and watched a large, padded figure enter the arena to challenge him once more. Standing and watching for just a moment, he singled out the large figure and attacked. At last he felt the wonder of his massive, powerful body meeting the resistance and driving into the side of the large figure. Now they would know his might and would have to reckon with his strength. For an instant he felt exhilarated. Then, without realizing when it began, he felt pain, a deep, numbing pain in the back of his neck. His adversary had somehow wounded him. He knew not how he had been hurt, and knew of only one solution: attack, attack, attack. The fury of his attack increased. His legs forced against the ground harder and desperately. The harder he pushed, the more the wound pained, but still he drove on. Under his skin something was twisting and separating sinews. His head seemed to get heavier while the wound screamed for relief. Then he eased the attack, retreated, and stood back, along, bewildered, and hurt. He had been defeated by pain, and, for the first time, knew the pain of defeat. The warm blood flowed down his back and along his sides. Now that there was no longer contact, the pain cried even louder. He could not straighten his neck. No more was he as strong, as powerful, as sure. Courage had begun to leave him. He was ready to quit, but that was not in the plan. It would not be that simple. There is one that is alone, And he hath not a second; Yes, he hath neither son nor brother; Yet is there no end of all his labor? Now a new figure darted toward him, approaching quickly and at the last instant it dodged to avoid him. At once there was more pain. Something new was sticking in his flesh. Now he was furious; now he would fight with a strength and power too awesome for belief. As he searched for something to attack, another figure ran toward him and there was more pain. More objects were embedded in his back. Then a third repeated the insult. With each attack his massive head and sharp horns counter-attacked, but each time he missed. He felt the weight and sting of the barbs hang- o c t o b e r 2 0 1 6 A L I V E E A S T B A Y 21


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