“Oh, lucky one! You can sit by the fire and dream while others hunt for you. Gog in his old age has still to go hunting his own food and food for his children. My sons, thankless wretches, have caves of their own to provide for, and I have only babies home now who cannot do anything but squall and eat.”
“No, Gog, you are the lucky one. You can still hunt your own meat. Wab wishes that he could do likewise, but he is doomed to sit here by the fire and get fat and lazy. This is harder than hunting.”
“Why not go, then? You can still see the daylight, and with a strong companion you might still stalk the goat.”
“I have thought so, too. I might still feel the thrill of the hunt. But Og says no. He tells me to rest and be content to dream and grow fat. He will not take me. If he only knew how hard it is for me to do nothing, perhaps he would take me with him sometimes.”
“Oh, Og is too cautious! Come; go with me. I will not go far. I am still strong and my eyes are keen. I will see for you. No harm will come to you.”
A strange, wistful expression flashed across Wab’s face for a moment. Then he became greatly excited.
“Would you take me, Gog, and bring me back safely?” he exclaimed, getting to his feet.
“And why not? Are we not friends now, Wab?” said the treacherous Gog.
“Oh, if I could go but once! It would make me happy again. It would give me fresh thoughts to dream about. Surely it would do me no harm,” he said wistfully, thinking of Og.
“Harm! No harm shall come to you while Gog is with you,” said the old leader boastfully, yet smiling slyly as he thought of the plans he had laid.