The trail was narrow and brushy, making it necessary for him to walk ahead of the horse.

So the hunter did not speak to her or look at her for some time.

He plodded on with his eyes downcast.
Something tugged at Wade's mind, an old, familiar, beckoning thing, vague and mysterious and black, a presage of catastrophe.

But it was only an opening wedge into his mind.

It had not entered.