They were talking as they ran. Gray Brother cantered on a while without replying, and then he said, — between bound and bound as it were, — ”Man-cub — Master of the Jungle — Son of Raksha, Lair-brother to me — though I forget for a little while in the spring, thy trail is my trail, thy lair is my lair, thy kill is my kill, and thy death-fight is my death-fight.

I speak for the Three. But what wilt thou say to the Jungle?”

“That is well thought. Between the sight and the kill it is not good to wait. Go before and cry them all to the Council Rock, and I will tell them what is in my stomach. But they may not come — in the Time of New Talk they may forget me.”

“Hast thou, then, forgotten nothing?”