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Holding both of his claws to his head, he staggered on, to be engulfed by a new arm of the fog. Then, as if the swallowing of the officer had given the mist a fresh appetite, the wan light waved in a last vast billow over the clear area about the frame. Shann felt its substance cold, slimy, on his skin. This was a deadly breath of un-life.
Fork-tail had crouched again for a spring, but that throat-crackling blast appeared to startle it. Shann, blade ready, took a dancing step to the right. The thing was scaled, perhaps as well armored against frontal attack as was the shell-creature he had fought with the aid of the wolverines.
Shann wriggled through a last bush barrier and stood to look out over that surface. A sleek brown head bobbed up. Shann put fingers to his mouth and whistled. The head turned, black button eyes regarded him, short legs began to churn water. To his gratification the swimmer was obeying his summons. Taggi came ashore, pausing on the fine gray sand of the verge to shake himself vigorously.
He sniffed at a dollop of blood, the dark, alien blood, spattered on Shann's breeches, and then his head came up with a reassuring alertness as he looked to where his mate was still worrying the now quiet fork-tail. With an effort, Taggi got to his feet, Shann aiding him. The man ran his hand down over ribs, seeking any broken bones.
Then the alien heaved up his body to stand erect, favoring the leg which had been trapped. Shann tensed, waiting for a rush. What now? Would the Throg refuse to move? If so, what could he do about it? With the impact of a blow, the message Shann had hoped for struck into his mind. But his initial joy at that contact was wiped out with the same speed. "Throg ship ... overhead."
Shann trailed them, finding the opening a tight squeeze. He squirmed into dimness, his outstretched hands meeting a rough stone surface sloping upward. After gaining a point about eight feet above the beach he was able to look back and down through the seaward slit.
His bearer turned away from the stream cut, carrying Shann out into that field which had first served the Terrans as a landing strip, then offered the same service to the Throgs. They passed two more parties of aliens on the move, manhandling with them bulky objects the Terran could not identify.
Perhaps neither wolverine had expected the full fury of the hound. Though he suffered a slash across the back of one hand, delivered by the over-excited Taggi, in the end Shann was able to get both animals away from the hole, now corked so effectively by the slavering thing. Thorvald was actually laughing as he watched his younger companion in action. "This ought to slow up the beetles!
Disturbing as his dream had been, the feeling that it was not to be shared was also strong, as strong as some order. "And so did I," Thorvald said bleakly. "You saw your skull-mountain?" "I was climbing it when you awoke me," Shann returned unwillingly. "And I was going through my green veil when Taggi took off and wakened me. You are sure your skull exists?" "Yes."
Better to have the job done right. Why, it was perfectly clear now how he had been mistaken! His whole work plan was wrong; he could see the right way of doing things laid out as clear as a blueprint in his mind. A picture in his mind! Shann stood up and both wolverines moved uneasily, though neither made a sound. A picture in his mind!
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