Then the noises hit him.
They were a constant and staggering roar, through which every tiniest whisper of sound stood out clearly and distinct. Sounds upon sounds—more noise than he had ever heard before at one time in his life. The woods behind him had suddenly become a mad-house.
Utterly confused, he lost control and became Shapeless.
He half-ran, half-flowed into a nearby bush. There he re-Shaped, obliterating the offending Dog ears and nostrils with vicious strokes of his thoughts.
The Dog-shape was out. Absolutely. Such appalling sharpness of senses might be fine for a Hunter such as Ger—he probably gloried in them. But another moment of such impressions would have driven Pid the Pilot mad.
What now? He lay in the bush and thought about it, while gradually his mind threw off the last effects of the dizzying sensory assault.
He looked at the gate. The Men standing there evidently hadn't noticed his fiasco. They were looking in another direction.
... a Man?
Well, it was worth a try.