Little Halfbreed repeated the question, poking the calf of the black man's leg with his finger. People of later generations all say that the legs of the black man were as hard as rock and as cold as ice.

　　 "It was the Grey Wolf," he answered, or more accurately, he said to himself. The strange noise came again from among the bushes. Even though it sounded like the barking of a dog or the howling of a wolf, it wasn't exactly the same. To the attentive listener, it was more like a dog's bark than a wolf's howl. The bushes shook, and then became still. The strange noise echoed through the silent marsh.

　　 I trembled with fear back then, but I am used to the story now. My grandson's little hands clutch at my skin like claws.

　　The man in black patted Little Halfbreed on his square head before abruptly lifting his own head and, with the veins standing out on his neck, uttering an eerie cry. The imitation was so accurate that the Grey Wolf in the marsh joined in: Aa--woo; Aa--woo; Aa--woo. "It's called Grey Wolf; it's actually a kind of bird," he stated ambiguously. And then, in a high- pitched tone, he sang out:

　　"The Grey Wolf lays its eggs everywhere.
　 　　It sounds like a dog and moves like lightening.
　 　　It's not an ordinary bird. It is divine.
　　 　With a panacea herb in its beak,
　　 　It builds its nest on the tree of fragrant musk.
　　 　If you can catch sight of it,
　　 　You will be free from disaster and misfortune.
　　 　If you can catch sight of it,
　　 　You will live for ten thousand years!"

　　He sang the song over and over again until the sun went down and both the sky and the earth were surrounded in a purple haze. Starlight twinkled through the purple like fireflies. That night, Little Halfbreed saw the Grey Wolf flying low, leaving behind traces of moonlight which illuminated the branches of the bushes so brightly that they looked like wires of gold.

　　 ..... With great difficulty, the young horse and the boy made their way through the marsh. Rotten, acidic gas made their eyes water. Air bubbles rose to the surface of the mire and popped with a spluttering sound. Fragments of withered yellow grass floated all around. They dodged about, hopping with a care, searching for tussocks of grass to stand on. They couldn't afford to slow their pace; for, if they hesitated in the slightest, they would sink into the sludge. The muck was dark red in colour, sticky as paint and had the stink of rotting fish. The marshland seemed endless. One day the boy made a false step and began to sink. The more he struggled, the deeper he went, quickly sinking to his chest. His head began to swell; his nose began to bleed; and his eyeballs began to bulge. He started to cry. The foal tried to pull him out with her hooves, but failed. She began to cry too. The boy called out, "Little Horse, don't worry about me. You go on by yourself." "No," the little horse answered. "if we die, we'll die together." The boy shook his head with all his strength. By this time, it was completely dark. Hordes of fireflies danced, and a cool breeze blew over the marsh. Suddenly, they heard the faint barking of a dog in the distance. They looked up, and, in the direction of the barking, they saw traces of dim light. The young horse shouted with excitement, "Little Brother, look. There are other people ahead! We are almost out of the marsh!" The boy felt a rush of renewed energy, and, out of desperation, an idea came to him. The young horse turned her rump around and raised her tail so that the boy could grab it. She placed her four hooves on tussocks of grass and arched her back. With her muzzle almost buried in the mud, she pulled and pulled until at last she pulled the boy out. The red foal was exhausted. She discovered a patch of solid ground and lay down, gasping for breath. It was a long time before the boy let go of her tail.