He had won and kept these things openly, without strategy or treachery.

He was hated and he was feared, but he was without hatred or fear of his own--and he was honest.

Therefore he waited openly for the strange thing that was coming to him from down the valley.
As he sat on his haunches, questioning the air with his keen brown nose, something within him was reaching back into dim and bygone generations.
Never before had he caught the taint that was in his nostrils, yet now that it came to him it did not seem altogether new.

He could not place it.

He could not picture it.