“"Whit are ye rakin' aboot efter noo?" asked the tod irritably. "A puddle," answered Rowf, vanishing into the fog. "A good, cold one, too." There was a muffled sound of lapping and he reappeared. "That's better." "By, ye're reet mucky." "Tod, how do you find the way? I've no idea where we are." "Groond," answered the tod. "It gans up an' gans doon. Ye divven't need mair. We're goin' up noo." "Are we near home? Oh, damn these cobwebs!" "Fluff 'em off, ninny. Ay, we're nigh noo. Ye can tell fro' t...he groond. Up anight th'earth's lighter. Mind, yon snout o' yours luks weel brayed aboot. Ye've torn it bad." "It'll be all right. Tod, what about Snitter? How does he seem to you?" "He's weel away wi'd, yon. He wez on agen this mornin' aboot not bein' left inside his aan heed. Daft as a brush." "Yes, he's bad right enough—worse than I've ever seen him. These turns of his pass off, though —or they always have. It's a nuisance, but he'll have to stay where he is for the time being. We'll have to hunt without him." "He canna bide there, hinny.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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