tprint traces of a runaway glaver。
The scent was already cool when Dwer had first noticed the spoor； just outside the Glade of Gathering。 His brother and the other pilgrims had continued toward sounds of gala music； floating from the festival pavilions。 But alas for Dwer； it was his job to stop glavers who took a strange notion to leave the cozy lowlands and make a break for perilous freedom。 Festival would have to wait。
The noor barked high…pitched yelps； pretending to be helpful； its sinuous body streaking along at root level while Dwer had to chop and scramble。 Finally； Dwer could tell they were gaining。 The glaver's tired footprints lay close together； pressing the heel。 When the wind changed； Dwer caught a scent。 About time； he thought； gauging how little mountain remained before a cleft led to the next watershed…in effect another world。
Why do glavers keep doing this？ Their lives aren't so rough on this side； where everyone dotes on them。 Beyond the pass； by contrast； lay a poison plain； unfit for all but the hardiest hunters。
Or tourists； he thought； recalling Lena Strong's offer to pay him to lead a trip east。 A journey whose sole aim was sightseeing…a word Dwer had only heard in tales from Old Earth。
These are crazy times； he thought。 Yet the 〃tour organizers〃 claimed to have approval from the sages…under certain conditions。 Dwer shook his head。 He didn't need idiotic ideas clouding his mind right now； with a quarry just ahead。
The noor； too； showed signs of fatigue； though it kept snuffing along the glaver's track； then rising on its hind legs to scan with black； forward…facing eyes。 Suddenly； it gave a guttural purr and took off through the montane thicket…and soon Dwer heard a glaver's unmistakable squawl； followed by the thud of running feet。
Great； now he's spooked it！
At last Dwer spilled from the undergrowth onto a stretch of ancient Buyur highway。 Sprinting along the broken pavement； he sheathed the machete and drew his pound bow； cranking the string taut。
Sounds of hissing confrontation spilled from a narrow side canyon； forcing Dwer to leave the old road again； dodging amid vine…crusted trees。 Finally he saw them； just beyond a screen of shrubs…two creatures； poised in a showdown of sable and iridescent pale。
Cornered in a slit ravine； the glaver was obviously female； possibly pregnant。 She had climbed a long way and was pulling deep breaths。 Globelike eyes rotated independently； one tracking the dark noor while the other scanned for dangers yet unseen。
Dwer cursed both of them…the glaver for drawing him on a profitless chase when he had been looking forward to festival； and the meddlesome noor for daring to interfere！
Doubly cursed； because now he was in its debt。 If the glaver had reached the plains beyond the Rimmer Range； it would have been no end of trouble。
Neither creature seemed to notice Dwer…though he wouldn't bet against the noor's keen senses。 What is the little devil doing up here？ What's it trying to prove？
Dwer had named it Mudfoot； for the brown forepaws marring an ebony pelt； from a flattish tail to whiskers that twitched all around a stubby snout。 The black…furred creature kept still； its gaze riveted on the flighty glaver； but Dwer wasn't fooled。 You know I'm watching； show…off。 Of all species left on Jijo when the ancient Buyur departed； Dwer found noor the least fathomable； and fathoming other creatures was a hunter's art。
Quietly； he lowered the bow and unfastened a buckskin thong； taking up his coiled lariat。 Using patient； stealthy care； he edged forward。
Grinning with jagged； angular teeth； Mudfoot reared almost to the glaver's height…roughly as tall as Dwer's thigh。 The glaver retreated with a snarl； till her bony back plates brushed rock； causing a rain of pebbles。 In her forked tail she brandished a stick…some branchlet or sapling with the twigs removed。 A sophisticated tool； given the present state of glaverdom。
Dwer took another step and this time could not avoid crushing some leaves。 Behind the noor's pointy ears； gray spines jutted from the fur； waving independently。 Mudfoot kept facing the glaver； but something in its stance said…〃Be quiet； fool！〃
Dwer didn't like being told what to do。 Especially by a noor。 Still； a hunt is judged only by success； and Dwer wanted a clean capture。 Shooting the glaver now would be to admit failure。
Her loose skin had lost some opal luster since leaving familiar haunts； scavenging near some village of the Six； as glavers had done for centuries； ever since their innocence was new。
Why do they do this？ Why do a few try for the passes； every year？
One might as well guess the motives of a noor。 Among the Six； only the patient hoon had a knack for working with the puckish； disruptive beasts。
Maybe the Buyur resented having to quit Jijo and left noor as a joke on whoever came next。
A buzzing lion…fly cruised by； under filmy； rotating wings。 The panting glaver tracked it with one eye； while the other watched the swaying noor。 Hunger gradually prevailed over fear as she realized Mudfoot was too small to murder her。 As if to enhance that impression； the noor sat back on its haunches； nonchalantly licking a shoulder。
Very clever； Dwer thought； shifting his weight as the glaver swung both eyes toward the hovering meal。
A jet of sputum shot from her mouth； striking the fly's tail。
In a flash； Mudfoot bounded left。 The glaver squealed； struck out with the stick； then whirled to flee the other way。 Cursing； Dwer sprang from the undergrowth。 Moccasins skidded on spoiled granite； and he tumbled； passing just under the flailing club。 Desperately； Dwer cast the lariat…which tautened with a savage yank that slammed his chin to the ground。 Though starving and weak； the glaver had enough panicky strength to drag Dwer for a dozen meters； till her will finally gave out。
Shivering； with waves of color coursing under her pale skin； she dropped the makeshift club and sank to all four knees。 Dwer got up warily； coiling the rope。
〃Easy does it。 No one's gonna hurt you。〃
The glaver scanned him with one dull eye。 〃Pain exists。 Marginally；〃 she crooned； in thickly slurred Galactic Eight。
Dwer rocked back。 Only once before had a captured glaver spoken to him。 Usually they kept up their insentient to the last。 He wet his lips and tried answering in the same obscure dialect。
〃Regrettable。 Endurance suggested。 Better than death。〃
〃Better？〃 The weary eye squinted as if vaguely puzzled and unsure it mattered。
Dwer shrugged。 〃Sorry about the pain。〃
The faint light drifted out of focus。
〃Not blamed。 Dour melody。 Now ready to eat。〃
The flicker of intellect vanished once more under a bolus of animal density。
Both amazed and drained； Dwer tethered the creature to a nearby tree。 Only then did he take account of his own wincing cuts and bruises while Mudfoot lay on a rock； basking in the last rays of the setting sun。
The noor couldn't talk。 Unlike the glaver； its ancestors had never been given the knack。 Still； its open…mouth grin seemed to say…〃That was fun。 Let's do it again！〃
Dwer recovered his bow； started a fire； and spent the day's last half…midura feeding the captive from his meager rations。 Tomorrow he'd find it a rotten log to root under for grubs…a favorite； if undignified pastime for members of what had once been a mighty starfaring race。
Mudfoot sidled close when Dwer unwrapped some hard bread and jerky。 Dwer sighed and tossed some to the noor； who snatched chunks out of midair and ate with dainty care。 Then Mudfoot sniffed at Dwer's gourd canteen。
He had seen the beasts use gourds aboard hoon…crewed riverboats。 So after a dubious pause； he pulled the cork stopper and handed it over。 The creature used both six…fingered forepaws…nearly as deft as true hands…to adroitly slosh quick dollops over its tongue； smacking loudly。
Then it poured the remainder over its head。
Dwer shot to his feet； cursing。 But Mudfoot blithely tossed the empty vessel aside。 Rivulets ran down its glossy back； dribbling dark splatters in the dust。 The noor chirped happily and began to groom。
Dwer