Nelson, as he rode with Kree along a red-lit forest aisle beside the wide, dark-flowing river, heard the Clans moving through the forest with them, and heard their thought-cry.
Gather, O ye of the Brotherhood! Gather to the south, my brothers, for soon we fight — and die!
The woods were full of running shadows. Shaking red light fell on gray backs and striped backs and struck fire from eyes that were already like blown coals in the darkness and shone white on gleaming, snicking teeth.
The ground shook to the trampling thunder of hoofs as Hatha's Clan went by, great stallions, their loose manes whipped like banners on the wind of their going. Some of them bore men of Vruun, armed for battle. And above the treetops in the bloody glare, the wide-winged eagles looped and swung.
There rose the terrific call of Tark beside them and it was answered. A tiger roared and another, sending their deep rolling coughs to echo from the hillsides. And the sons of Hatha lifted their wild neighing on the night.
Roll call! Roll call of the Clans!
Nelson's throat contracted and the warrior in him was shaken by a strange emotion. He heard the thought-cry of a lithe gray wolf-shape that ran in close to Tark and Kree and himself.
"Outlander, we go together this time! Good hunting!"
With a weird feeling, Nelson recognized that running wolf-shape as the one which for a time had been his own.
"Good hunting, Asha!"