[littlemanpoet]

Jorje Tirril and Ædegard's mount (whose given name was Brade) trotted down the path made by the human's footsteps. It curved hither and yon, but ever remained on solid ground. The man must have a good nose to keep his feet on such a sure trail. But if he did, he would have smelled the fouls and the woman, and he hadn't. So maybe something else kept him on the trail, something not aroo at all, but eerm instead. Jorje's hackles rose in fear. Something eermy lay ahead of them, and he had just begun to smell it. It was the foul retchy thing again, only a lot stronger.

He snuffled to Brade that they needed to hurry. It was a good thing that one toe's could really run when they had to. They ran. It was easy now to follow the scent, and Jorje retched as he ran, but run he did, retch or not.

It was colder and wetter here, and there was a building with dripping stone. It was dark here, even though one eye in the sky was still a sniff up. The man's feet went through that eermy, hackly door. Jorje went down on his belly and eermed, real quiet, he couldn't help it, the sound just came out of him because it was such an eermy place. But red man had sent him to find Ædegard, and he would find him, even in this eermy place. He crawled through the door. Brade stayed outside. Jorje couldn't blame him. Besides, Brade made too much noise, even in the mucky swamp.

There were foul eerms in the distance, and they snuffled to each other. Amid all the retchy smell, Jorje could smell the man. He sniffed, carefully, to smell what they were about. And his nose served him well: they smelled like they were ready to feed, and the only thing they had to feed on was the man! Jorje's hackles rose higher, in anger now. The man was pack! This eermy pack sought to eat his pack! He bared his fangs and growled low, and the sound that came out of him would have scared him if it had come from any other. They turned to him and made all kinds of strange noises, sort of like what red man's pack did, only their noises were all way back in the throat, as if they were trying to growl without a doggish throat. It was silly! They couldn't growl right! Jorje took courage and he dove, his mouth snapping every which way. He pounced and ran, snapping, snapping, until he came to Ædegard. Hands grasped at him and he snapped at them, and the hands drew back; he even got a finger of one of them, but the taste made him retch. He stopped snapping and yelling and growling long enough to lick Ædegard's face, and the man's eyes opened . . . at first just a little, then wide with alarm. He scrambled to his feet while Jorje yammered some more.

"Let's get out of here, Jorje!" said the man.

Jorje followed his packmate out of the stoney place, and Ædegard stopped dead before Brade, as if stunned. But only for a moment. He jumped on Brade's back, and called Jorje after him. Jorje ran after. He didn't need aroo from Ædegard, not for this. Off they ran amid the fog, the one eye in the sky just a sniff or so above the edge of the world. Jorje could hear the eermies running squishily after, but they were leaving them far behind. Jorje grinned as he ran, happy that he had done what Red man had asked.