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Ellen, the wagon stopped, climbed one of the large, bronzeshod rear wheels, and, clinging to the side of the bed, her bare feet on a heavy, wooden, rounded spoke, looked backward. - (Prize of Gor, Chapter 27, Sentence #377)

Fel Doron had caught the scent first, perhaps because of his height on the wagon box. "Portus!" he had called. Selius Arconious had lifted his head, facing backward, nostrils flared, testing the wind, a moment later. Ellen, the wagon stopped, climbed one of the large, bronzeshod rear wheels, and, clinging to the side of the bed, her bare feet on a heavy, wooden, rounded spoke, looked backward. It was a scent she had experienced once before, on Targo's sales shelf in the Kettle Market, though then it had been so suddenly, so unexpectedly, upon her, almost stifling, almost overwhelming, so hot, so suddenly close and terrible. There was no mistaking it, that scent, though now it was distant, and faint, a whisper on the wind. It was the same. - (Prize of Gor)