"You've angered him, Ronal! You've—"
"But he could see I wasn't stealing it—"
The Hairy One did not move. Crouched, he watched them; watched Marla.
Suddenly, Ronal was clearing a small area of the thick, carpet-like grass. Then in the soft, rich dirt which he had exposed, he began making swift, simple diagrams. They depicted the ship, surrounded by a forest. Then, pointing first to his crude drawing, then to the Hairy One, to themselves, then to the ship, Ronal waited.
But the beast did not move.
"Take him along? Back with us?" Marla whispered.
"Why not?" Ronal answered. "If our experts could communicate with him, or at least study him, there's no telling—wait!"
The Hairy One had started to stand, step forward, then stopped.
"We had better go, Ronal." Marla was frightened, now. "You've made him resent us. We should leave him to this world where he belongs, and we should return to ours where we belong."