On closer inspection there
could be seen some flaw in him, some change. The head was larger and
the ears wider. The snout was shorter and a dark, bristling mane like
that of a horse could be seen as he lowered a haunting mask toward the
tribesman. Black streaks ran down from it across his haunching
shoulders, the yellowish thrust of the upper body yielding gradually to
that of an unchanged wolf. And he was strong, unnaturally strong. His
slitted eyes were fierce and full of hatred: Shar-hai.
The boy took first one step, and then another, upstream away from them,
trying not to show how helpless and afraid he really was. He moved
laterally, not wanting to turn his back. They were coming after him
now, gaining speed with each crouching step. He started to run, but a
loose clump of grassy mud gave way beneath the weight of his foot,
splitting his legs apart beneath him. He fell forward stiffly, landing
half in the water and half on the sandy shore.
The three were upon him in an instant. He tried to call out for help,
but his terror-filled cries were too feeble to pierce the oncoming wind,
and were carried away before they could reach his sleeping comrades,
less than half a mile away. He felt a sharp burst of pain at the back
of his neck, followed by an icy numbness.
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