"Got myself caught up in the mountains last winter," the old fellow replied. "Supplies ran out on me. Besides, I get hungry for talk now and then. The pony and the mule listen pretty good, but they don't answer very well, and the wolves up there move around so much that you can't hardly get a conversation started with them." He looked at the she-wolf and then astonishingly spoke to her in her own language. "How is it with you, mother?" he asked. His accent was abominable, and he spoke haltingly, but his speech was undeniably that of a wolf.

"How remarkable," she said with some surprise. Then she responded to the ritual greeting. "One is content."

"One is pleased to hear that. How is it that you go with the man-things?"

"One has joined their pack for a certain time."

"Ah."

"How did you manage to learn the language of wolves?" Garion asked in some amazement.

"You recognized it, then." The old fellow sounded pleased about that for some reason. He leaned back in his saddle. "Spent most of my life up there where the wolves are," he explained. "It's only polite to learn the language of your neighbors." He grinned. I’ll be honest about it, though, at first I couldn't make much out of it, but if you listen hard enough, it starts to come to you. Spent a winter in a den with a pack of them about five years back. That helped quite a bit."

"They actually let you live with diem?" Zakath asked.

"It took them awhile to get used to me," the old man admitted, "but I made myself useful, so they sort of accepted me."

"Useful?"

"The den was a little crowded, and I got them there tools."

He jerked his thumb at his pack mule. "I dug the den out some larger, and they seemed to appreciate it. Then, after a while, I took to watching over the pups while the rest was out hunting. Good pups they was, too. Playful as kittens. Some time later I tried to make up to a bear. Never had much luck with that. Bears are a standoffish bunch. They keep to theirselves most of the time, and deer are just too skittish to try to make friends with. Give me wolves every time."

The old gold hunter's pony did not move very fast, so the others soon caught up with them.

"Any luck?" Silk asked the old gold hunter, his nose twitching with interest.

"Some," the white-bearded man answered evasively.

"Sorry," Silk apologized. "I didn't mean to pry."

"That's all right, friend. I can see that you're an honest man."

Velvet muffled a slightly derisive chuckle.

"It's just a habit I picked up," the fellow continued. "It's not really too smart to go around telling everybody how much gold you've managed to pick up."

"I can certainly understand that."