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"What do they really want me to do? Just rout out that Throg? Or try to talk him into being a go-between with his people? That does come under the heading of dreaming!" "They want him out of there, back with his own kind if possible.
After the first few clashes the early Terran explorers had endeavored to promote a truce between the species, only to discover that between Throg and man there appeared to be no meeting ground at all total differences of mental processes producing insurmountable misunderstanding. There was simply no point of communication.
The Terran lay face up now, and as his eyes adjusted to the light, he saw a ring of Throg heads blotting out the sky as they inspected their catch impassively. The mouth mandibles of one moved with a faint clicking. Again claws fastened in his armpits, brought Shann to his feet, holding him erect. Then the Throg who had given that order moved closer.
That present snap of two-tone complaint suggested that the land was empty of strangers. For the clak-claks vociferously and loudly resented encroachment on their chosen hunting territory. Shann hesitated. He was driven by the urge to put as much distance between him and the landing Throg ship as he could. But to arouse the attention of inquisitive clak-claks was asking for trouble.
Fear made a thicker fog about him than the green mist of the illusion. Only this was no illusion. Shann stared at the Throg officer with sick eyes, knowing that no one ever quite believes that a last evil will strike at him, that he had clung to a hope which had no existence. "Lantee!" The call burst in his head with a painful force.
Yet he is an elder among his kind and his people have been searching land and sea for him since his air rider broke upon the rocks and he entered into hiding over there. Make your peace with him if you can, and also take him hence, for his dreams are not ours, and he brings confusion to the Reachers when they retire to run the Trails of Seeking." "Must be an important Throg," Shann deduced.
The stars and other things, for over the distant shore of the mainland they sighted the cruising lights of a Throg ship and waited tensely for that circle of small sparkling points to swing out toward their own hiding hole. "They haven't given up," Shann stated what was obvious to them both. "The settler transport," Thorvald reminded him.
By Shann's side the wolverines were moving restlessly. Since Taggi's attack on the Throg neither beast would venture near any site where they could scent the aliens.
The wolverine twisted and whined, but he did not fight for freedom as he would have upon scenting Throg. Not that the Terran had ever believed one of those aliens was responsible for the happenings on the island. Taggi came down under Shann's urging, but he was plainly ill at ease.
"But anyway," Shann observed, "it hasn't come to 'we're all girls together' either." Thorvald laughed again. "Not so you can notice. We're not the only unwilling visitor in the vicinity." Shann sat up. "A Throg?" "A something. Non-Warlockian, or non-Wyvern. And perhaps trouble for us." "You haven't seen this other?" Thorvald sat down cross-legged.
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