Oluf grunted, and Bowron went on as though to himself. "I've come to believe that it's useless to follow in the footsteps of the gods--that we must wait, and think, and work, each in his own way, until we learn what is possible for us through our own trials and the further development of our simple tools. We've learned much from the god-things, slowly, over the years. But we also know that we're mutants, changed by the radiation of the great war areas, breeding true at last, and that we are different from the Wild Ones. True, we're superior, but--we're not gods. Whether we can ever--" Oluf had sprung to his feet and was gone with incredible speed. Bowron sat up tensely, listened to the crashing of brush, and, finally, to a shrill squeal of departing life. He relaxed and waited until Oluf, grinning, returned with a rabbit. "Our dinner, old-timer. Sorry I wasn't listening too closely to what you were saying." Later, after they had eaten and were stretched comfortably on the moon-drenched shore, Oluf grew reminiscent. "I remember your teachings, Bowron. And I recall well our endless attempts to operate the god-things--the machines and mechanisms. But all that always seemed strange. Best of all I liked the tales of the old days--the stories of our ancestors." Bowron nodded thoughtfully. "It was that way with most of my pupils. It was more comfortable to dream of the past than to cope with the current hardships. It seemed to arouse some dormant instinct in all of us--" He broke off and sighed. "Would you like to hear another of the stories?" "Very much!" Bowron studied the bright moon. "Well--once in the far and long ago, there was a man named Smith, who lived in a big city...." When the tale was done, Oluf seemed deeply moved. "I believe," he said slowly, "that I'll go with you to the Southland. You might easily perish on the way, and such words as yours must live to give others comfort and hope--for we may yet find living gods in some remote corner of the world. It must have been wonderful," he mused sleepily, "to have lived in companionship with the gods--with men." He curled up comfortably, paws tucked in, and laid his nose across his bushy tail.