The smells rushed at him from all directions. Smells in a profusion and variety he had never dreamed existed. Smells that were harsh, sweet, sharp, heavy, mysterious, overpowering. Smells that terrified. Alien and repulsive and inescapable, the odors of Earth struck him like a blow. He curled his lips and held his breath. He ran on for a few steps, and had to breathe again. He almost choked. He tried to remold his Dog-nostrils to be less sensitive. It didn't work. It wouldn't, so long as he kept the Dog-shape. An attempt to modify his metabolism didn't work either. All this in the space of two or three seconds. He was rooted in his tracks, fighting the smells, wondering what to do. Then the noises hit him. They were a constant and staggering roar, through which every tiniest whisper of sound stood out clearly and distinct. Sounds upon sounds--more noise than he had ever heard before at one time in his life. The woods behind him had suddenly become a mad-house. Utterly confused, he lost control and became Shapeless. He half-ran, half-flowed into a nearby bush. There he re-Shaped, obliterating the offending Dog ears and nostrils with vicious strokes of his thoughts. The Dog-shape was out. Absolutely. Such appalling sharpness of senses might be fine for a Hunter such as Ger--he probably gloried in them. But another moment of such impressions would have driven Pid the Pilot mad. What now? He lay in the bush and thought about it, while gradually his mind threw off the last effects of the dizzying sensory assault. He looked at the gate. The Men standing there evidently hadn't noticed his fiasco. They were looking in another direction. ... a Man? Well, it was worth a try. * * * * * Studying the Men at the gate, Pid carefully shaped himself into a facsimile--a synthesis, actually, embodying one characteristic of that, another of this. He emerged from the side of the bush opposite the gate, on his hands and knees. He sniffed the air, noting that the smells the Man-nostrils picked up weren't unpleasant at all. In fact, some of them were decidedly otherwise. It had just been the acuity of the Dog-nostrils, the number of smells they had detected and the near-brilliance with which they had done so, that had shocked him. Also, the sounds weren't half so devastating. Only relatively close sounds stood out. All else was an undetailed whispering. Evidently, Pid thought, it had been a long time since Men had been Hunters. He tested his legs, standing up and taking a few clumsy steps. _Thud_ of foot on ground. Drag the other leg forward in a heavy arc. _Thud._ Rocking from side to side, he marched back and forth behind the bush. His arms flapped as he sought balance. His head wobbled on its neck, until he remembered to hold it up. Head up, eyes down, he missed seeing a small rock. His heel turned on it. He sat down, hard. The ankle hurt. Pid curled his Man-lips and crawled back into the bush.