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STURM! the fox thought, stretching his sharp-toothed jaws
in a grin of acknowledgement. Behind him he heard the
shepherd dog, Flint, just drifting down the hill. That path
would take him right into the cottage's dooryard, shadowed
now by night and trees. To his left and ahead, around the
far side of the cottage, rumbled the low growl of the
panther. Caramon was in place. It occurred to the fox -
Tanis - that it was a very good thing that Caramon had
eaten well before the change.
The fox tested the air carefully, identified the scents of
his companions and of those within the cottage. Man-scent
was strong, and so was the smell of cat and squirrel.
Squirrel. His mouth began to water in spite of himself.
Squirrels, he knew from some heretofore untapped well of
information, tasted nearly as good as rabbits. Tanis
shuddered and shook himself.
He caught man-scent again, this time from a hill behind
him. That scent he knew well, though he had only recently
come to recognize it: Raistlin. Light and sweet, the small
scent of a wren hovered near. All were in position.
WREN, he whispered, though to any who heard it might
only have been the soft pant of a fox pausing to rest in his
night hunting
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