The old wolf sat down, his tongue lolling out. "Besides, we have run far, from the hills above Mreela. We would rest."
Through Asha's eyes, Nelson saw that these were lean and ragged wolves from an outlying tribe that ranged the upper levels. They did not know him, did not know that he was outlaw.
He finished his meal in gulps, crunching down the last sweet bones. Then he licked his lips and waited. The long wailing Hai-oo! of the Clan-call rose across the river and was answered and answered again.
The old wolf told him, "We go toward Anshan to watch."
"I, too."
"Then go with us, young one."
He could not get away from them without arousing suspicion. He must join them now, and later see what was best to do.
The lean gray shapes rose, ten of them, long-fanged hunters of the barren heights, full of a quivering excitement. Almost, Nelson felt as he ran that he was really Asha, running with his own kind.
But he was not. His kind, Nelson's kind, lay in wait at Anshan with machine-guns and grenades.
When the first light of dawn began to pale in the sky, he and the pack were miles southward. He started to drift away from the upland pack. He would be safer now alone. He must find some place to lie up until it was dark again before he made his attempt to enter Anshan. By night he had one chance in a hundred of succeeding without being shot on sight as a spy from Vruun. By day he had none.