"Just the usual whiff. Stale scent. She was here; she passed this way.
But which way?"
"We can guess they made it away from the spaceport."
"Unless," said the dog taking another sniff of the air, "they're taking
her back to some other spacecraft." Buregarde looked up at Peter. "Do
you catch anything?"
"Just the usual mingled fright and danger, frantic despair."
"Directional?"