"Greetings, Hairy One," came the mare's thought, She stopped to blow and, through Asha's wolf-senses, Nelson could smell the fear on her. The little inky-black foal whickered and pushed his head against his mother's flanks, his long ridiculous legs planted far apart and trembling. Both of them were streaked with sweat. "You have run far, oh Sister," said Nelson, through Asha's mind.
"North from Anshan," answered the mare, and shivered. She nosed the foal's thin neck tenderly and added, "I could not come before because of him."
"Anshan?" said Nelson. "I go toward there now."
"I know. The Clans are gathering for war." The rolling eyes of the mare showed white in the moonlight, "There is death in the forest, Hairy One! There is death in the valley of L'Lan!"
And the little black foal started. With lifted head and rolling eyes in imitation of his mother, he echoed, "Death! Death! Death!" His tiny hoofs made a rattling sound on the stones.
"Hush, little one," whispered the mare and stroked his quivering neck. "What do you know of death?"
"I have smelled it," said the foal. "Red in the wind." His nostrils showed pink as they flared to his frightened breathing.
"I pastured on the slopes above Anshan," the mare told Nelson, "because my mate was taken by the Humanites and I wanted to be near him. The foal was born there. There was killing in the valley below us. The outlanders had come with their new fire-weapons and many of the Brotherhood were killed."
"Death," said the foal again, and whinnied like a child crying. "I am afraid."
Nelson reassured with his thought. "You're safe now, little one. There is no death here."