The Mulgar shook his head. "Maybe it is something in the Mulla-mulgar," he answered. "It is very good cheese."
"Will morning soon be here?" said Nod, gazing into the fire.
The Mulgar smiled. "When night is gone," he answered.
"Why do these mountain-wolves fear fire?" asked Nod.
The Mulgar shook his head. "Questions, royal traveller, are easier than answers," he said. "They do."
He caught up a firebrand, and threw it with all his strength beyond the fire. It fell sputtering on the ledge, and instantly there rose such a yelping and snarling the chasm re-echoed. Yet so brave are these snow-wolves one presently came venturing pitapat, pitapat, along the frosty gallery, and very warily, with the tip of his paw, poked and pushed at it until the burning stick toppled and fell over, down, down, down, down, till, a gliding spark, it vanished into the torrent below. The Mountain-mulgar looked back over his shoulder at Nod, but said nothing.
Nod's eyes went wandering from head to head of the shadowy pack. "Is it far now to my uncle, Prince Assasimmon's? Is it far to the Valleys?" he said in a while.
"Only to the other side of death," said the watchman. "Come Nōōmanossi, we shall walk no more."
"Do you mean, O Man of the Mountains," said Nod, catching his breath, "that we shall never, never get there alive?" The watchman hobbled over and threw an armful of wood on to the fire.
"'Never' shares a big bed with 'Once,' Mulla-mulgar," he said, raking the embers together with a long forked stick. "But we have no Magic."