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  Wolf's snarls shook him from nose to tail. They didn't dare make another attack.

  Bristling with fury, Wolf bit off a willow branch and savaged it to shreds. Then he turned and raced into the Forest. His limbs itched with the blood-urge, his pelt prickled with rage. 198

  So. This was how it ended.

  Don't ever leave me,Tall Tailless had said. Then he'd chased Wolf away with the Bright Beast-that-Bites-Hot and made a new pack-with ravens. Well, let him! Wolf had another pack too.

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  TWENTY-THREE

  When Torak returned to the shelter, he knew at once that something was wrong. The ravens sat in their pine tree looking ruffled and aggrieved, and the bigger one was missing a tail feather.

  "What happened?" he said. But they were too upset to come down. In the shelter, he found his pine-needle bedding pocked with odd, fist-sized hollows. He sensed that this ought to mean something, but it didn't. His mind was still healing, his tracking powers only slowly coming back; and over the last few days, a fever and a cough had crept up on him, which didn't help. 200

  Outside, he found the remains of a branch, savaged to pieces. A shred of chewed raven feather. A paw print.

  Frowning, he squatted to examine it.

  The sun sank below the trees, and the Lake turned a dark wolf gray. Wolf gray ...

  Slowly Torak rose to his feet. "Wolf," he said out loud.

  For the first time in days, he saw clearly. He saw Wolf coming to watch over him, as he had done since they'd parted--and finding the ravens. He saw Wolf leaping at them, snapping a feather, taking out his rage and hurt on a branch.

  The truth crashed over Torak. It wasn't Wolf who had forsaken him. It was he who had forsaken Wolf. Wolf, his faithful pack-brother, who had hunted by his side and guarded him from danger. And how had he repaid him? He had chased him away with burning torches; he had replaced him with ravens! The guilt was almost more than he could bear. "I've got to find him!" he cried. "I've got to make it all right!"

  He hadn't been in the Forest since his madness, and it felt unnervingly dark and still. He wondered if, like Wolf, it was angry with him for having forsaken it. But trees live longer than people, and are slower to anger. The Forest welcomed him back. It gave him

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  juicy strawberries which soothed his sore throat, and when the midges became annoying, it provided yarrow leaves to rub on his skin. For tinder it offered horsehoof mushroom; and best of all, it showed him Wolf's trail: a hair snagged on brambles, moss scuffed off a log.

  The trail led uphill, past the little lake he'd found before, now ablaze with golden water lilies in the evening sun.

  The wolves had chosen their denning place well: on a slope just west of the little lake, guarded by watchful pines. The Den was at the foot of a red boulder almost as tall as Torak, and around it the ground was hard-packed by the padding of many feet, and littered with shards of bone.

  But no wolves. And no cubs, either, although he saw plenty of tiny paw prints. Then he realized his mistake. The cubs would be asleep in the Den, and the pack was out hunting; it wouldn't be back before dawn. He had a long wait ahead.

  As he breathed in the rich, sweet scent of wolves, he was overcome by longing and remorse. Wolves had saved him when he was a baby, and yet for days, he had feared them as ravening monsters. With shocking suddenness, a large wolf emerged from behind the boulder. Its muzzle wrinkled in a snarl as it stalked toward him.

  Hardly daring to breathe, Torak edged back. The

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  pack had left someone to guard the cubs. He should have thought.

  The cub-watcher advanced on him.

  Torak averted his gaze and whined distressfully.Sorry! Don't attack!

  The cub-watcher growled.Go away!

  Slowly Torak withdrew to the far side of the water lily lake. To be threatened by a wolf! He was still far from full recovery.

  The short summer night descended as he waited. Frogs piped in the reeds. An otter surfaced and stared at him, then flipped under, leaving the lily pads gently rocking. He nodded off.

  His dreams were troubled by strange yowls, and he woke with a start. He felt hot and thickheaded, and his throat was so sore that it hurt to swallow. The night was unusually quiet.

  Too quiet.

  Vaguely troubled, he decided to check the Den-- even though it wasn't yet dawn, and the pack wouldn't be back.

  As before, the denning place seemed deserted, but mindful of the cub-watcher, Torak approached with caution. In the gloom, he made out a birch tree whose bark was badly scratched down one side. Too high for 203

  badger, too low for bear.

  He felt a prickling between his shoulder blades. He knew that feeling; everyone does, who lives in a Forest. It's the feeling of being watched. Drawing his knife, he moved as silently as his labored breathing would allow.

  Something lay at the foot of the boulder.

  The cub-watcher. Its flank had been ripped open, its throat chewed to pulp. It had put up a desperate fight to save the cubs.

  Torak knelt and placed his hand above one white paw. "Go in peace. May you find the First Tree, and hunt forever beneath its boughs." In the earth around the carcass he found tracks: rounder than a wolf's, their outline blurred by fur.

  Lynx. Rising, Torak looked about him.

  Couldn't see anything. He must've scared it away.

  But it was odd for a lynx to attack a full-grown wolf. Mostly they take hares and squirrels, and wolf cubs if they can get them. The lynx must have gone after the cubs, and the cub-watcher had leaped to their defense. A whine from the Den told him that the wolf had done its job well. Sheathing his knife, Torak crawled inside.

  The tunnel was just big enough to admit him. As he

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  breathed its earthy wolf tang, he was back in the Den where Fa had put him as a baby. His pack-brothers mewed as they clambered over him, and the breath of the Mother heated his skin as she nose-nudged him to suckle. He snuggled into her furry flank, and her milk tasted rich and warm.

  He was through the tunnel and into the birthing place. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw that it was about the size of a Raven shelter, but only high enough for a wolf to stand in. He caught a gleam of eyes. A fluffy huddle shrank from him. He whined to reassure the cubs, but they were terrified. He was a stranger, and they'd just lost their uncle.

  Backing out, he emerged from the Den--to see a large shadow bound away from the slaughtered wolf.

  "Be off!" he shouted, waving his arms. His shouts ended in a coughing fit which bent him double.

  The lynx leaped into a tree and sat, lashing its tail.

  Drawing his knife, Torak took his place by the dead wolf at the foot of the boulder. He would guard the cubs till the pack returned.

  It was strange, though, that his arrival hadn't frightened the lynx away. Lynx rarely attack people, and when they hunt, they target the young and the sick. More coughing seized him. When it was over, he was

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  sweating. His breath sounded like the crisping of dry leaves.

  Then it came to him. The lynx knew he was sick. It heard it in his voice and smelled it on his skin. Like the cubs, he was simply prey.

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  TWENTY-FOUR

  The lynx dropped soundlessly from the branch and began to prowl. Torak tried howling for Wolf, but only managed a croak. The night was warm, the stink of the slaughtered cub-watcher thick in his throat. The carcass lay so close that he could touch it.

  Too close. He should drag it farther off, so the lynx could feed in peace. Let it take the dead, and leave the living.

  But while he was doing that, it might come for the

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  cubs. He pictured the small souls padding about, nosing their corpses. He tightened his grip on his knife.

  A noise behind him. He spun around. Saw only the boulder. But lynx are superb climbers: They leap on their prey from above.

  If only he had his axe. Why
had he left it at the shelter? To have left without food, axe, or tinder ...

  No tinder.

  Fire would have scared it away. He should have taken some of that horsehoof mushroom when he'd the chance. The old Torak--the one before the madness-- would never have made that mistake. Another spasm of coughing gripped. When it was over, his ribs ached, and black spots darted before his eyes.

  The lynx crouched in the shadows, just out of reach. He saw its blank silver eyes, smelled its rank cat smell.

  Then he saw something that made his belly turn over. At the mouth of the Den, directly behind the lynx, two stubby muzzles were emerging. Torak barked a warning.Uff!Danger!

  The muzzles edged back inside.

  The lynx caught the movement and turned its head.

  "Here! Here!" shouted Torak to distract it. Yelling, throwing stones, he edged away from the Den.

  The lynx bared its teeth and hissed at him. But 208

  suddenly it twisted, snarling at a bolt of black lighting plummeting from the sky. Rip gave a deafening caw and soared out of reach, as Rek swept in to attack. Now both were mobbing the marauder: wheeling, swooping to peck. The lynx leaped for them--and they took refuge in a pine tree, raucously cawing. Lashing its tail, the lynx slunk back to the carcass.

  Torak stood with legs braced, shaking with fever. The scab on his breastbone had reopened, and warmth seeped down his chest.

  He could see no sign of the cubs. But he knew that soon they would be nosing their way out again.

  When they did, the lynx would be on them.

  Wolf loped through the trees. He recognized those caws! What were the ravens doing at the Den?

  The wind turned, carrying scents of lynx and wolf flesh and Tall Tailless. He quickened his pace, and the pack ran with him.

  The females were fastest and reached the Den before him. He saw the lead female leap at the lynx and chase it into the Forest, with Darkfur and the others in pursuit. Wolf skittered to a halt. He saw Whitepaw lying Not-Breath by the Den. He saw Tall Tailless clutching his great claw in his forepaw. He knew at once what had 209

  happened. Anger, joy, and sorrow fought within him.

  The ravens cawed from the trees, but Wolf ignored them. At the edge of the denning place, he saw the misty shape of a wolf. He cast it a reassuring glance, and what was left of Whitepaw--the breath that walked-- lingered for a moment, then, satisfied that the cubs were safe, trotted into the Forest. Blackear, Prowler, and the lead wolf were staring at Tall Tailless, hackles raised.

  Wolf trembled with longing to go to him; but it was for the lead wolf to decide if Tall Tailless was a friend of the pack.

  The lead wolf went to the meat that had been Whitepaw, then walked stiffly toward Tall Tailless.

  Tall Tailless stood quietly, with eyes averted, as a stranger should. Wolf was troubled to see that he swayed.

  Still with hackles raised, the lead wolf sniffed Tall Tailless.

  The cubs appeared at the jaws of the Den, whining, but they didn't come out. They were waiting to see what would happen.

  The hackles of the lead wolf went down, and he rubbed his flank against Tall Tailless's leg. Then he ran to greet the cubs.

  Prowler and Blackear bounded past Tall Tailless to

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  do the same, and he sank to the ground--ignoring the ravens, Wolf noticed happily.

  Dropping his ears, Wolf wagged his tail.

  Pack-brother, said Tall Tailless. Wolf gave a whine and raced toward him. 211

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Safe with the pack, Torak had his first good sleep in two moons. He woke in the afternoon, curled up at the edge of the denning place. The wound on his chest hurt, but his cough was almost gone, and he felt much better.

  The lead wolf started a howl, and the others joined in. Torak shut his eyes as the wolf song surged through him. He heard grief for their dead pack-brother and delight in the cubs; gratitude for the friend who had saved them. He gave himself up to the joy of being back with Wolf. Sensing Torak was awake, Wolf bounded over to

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  him, and they licked muzzles in a playful, everyday way, as if all the bitterness had never happened.

  I'm sorry, Torak said in wolf talk--although it was only a tiny part of what he felt. I know,said Wolf. And that was that.

  The howl ended, and a young female--a beautiful black wolf with eyes like green amber--trotted up to Torak with a rotten fish head in her jaws, and set it before him as a present. He thanked her and they touched noses. Then she and Wolf raced off to play with the cubs.

  Once he was sure that Wolf was deep in a game of tag, Torak stuck the fish head in the fork of a birch for Rip and Rek. He'd been careful not to make a fuss of them in front of his pack-brother, and they'd been sulking in a pine tree. Food changed that, and soon they were squabbling over the prize. It was a hot afternoon and the dead wolf stank, so Torak dragged it into the Forest. Let the ravens peck it undisturbed; and if the lynx returned for its kill, let it feed. Then he went to find food for himself. After cutting a spear from a hazel tree, he woke up a fire and hardened the tip, then went to try his luck in the water lily lake. It wasn't long before he speared a pike. Watched by 213

  a clutch of curious wolves, he roasted it and ate all except the tail, which he tied to the reeds as an offering. Then he ate a few handfuls of crunchy watercress and some early cloudberries, which burst on his tongue like honey.

  Feeling full for the first time in days, he sat under an alder to mend his clothes. Without needles and thread, this was easy. He simply cut off his leggings at the knee, and as his jerkin was already in shreds, he gave up on it and went bare-chested, using the scraps to make a new headband.

  When that was done, he leaned back and did nothing at all. On the lake, a mallard floated on its side, preening its belly feathers. A pair of teal flipped bottoms-up to feed. An otter taught her cubs to swim, and they paddled furiously, too fluffy to sink.

  The ravens were splashing in the shallows, and the cubs were playing hunt-the-cloudberry. In the boggy channels draining the lake, Wolf and three young full-growns were trying unsuccessfully to wade-herd fish.

  Torak felt a thrill of pure happiness. Wolves, ravens, otters, trees, rocks, lake: He was at peace with them all. For a moment he felt his world-soul reaching out to the world-soul of every living creature, like threads of golden gossamer floating on the wind. Wolf's amber gaze sought his, and Torak knew that he felt it too: that 214

  everything was justright.

  On the other side of the lake, the reeds parted, as if for an unseen presence, and the lead wolf turned his head to watch. Idly, Torak wondered what he saw.

  The leader of the pack was a large, slate-gray wolf with a white blaze on his chest. Torak admired the way he asserted his leadership firmly but without bluster, never demeaning himself by bullying, and always watching out for his pack. Like Fin-Kedinn, thought Torak with a twinge of longing. The young wolves were romping about in the shallows. Wolf bounded over to Torak and went down on his forepaws, lashing his tail. Come and play! Torak pulled off his knife, belt, and leggings and jumped in.

  After the heat of the afternoon, the water was deliciously cold. Down he swam through spears of sunlight and rippling green weeds. Golden roach flickered past, and blue-black tench. On the underside of a water lily leaf, a bubble hung like a pearl, and he popped it with his finger.

  Wolf's paws flashed by, and Torak yanked his tail. Wolf gave a startled yelp--Torak burst into the sunshine in a glitter of droplets--and they wrestled: Wolf play-growling, Torak shouting with laughter. He was happy. He could live like this forever.

  ***

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  Wolf gave a great twisting leap and splashed down on Tall Tailless. His pack-brother slipped under the Wet, then burst out again with his yip-and-yowling laugh.

  That prompted the lead female to start a howl, and Wolf joined in. The badness in Tall Tailless had been chased away, the ravens knew their place, and he, Wolf, could be with T
all Taillessandthe pack!

  The howl ended. Tall Tailless waded out and threw himself down to dry off, and Wolf trotted up the rise to catch the scents.

  He smelled many good smells, but to his dismay, he also caught the scent of the Otherness. It was floating on the Big Wet, much closer than before. It was getting bolder. The ravens picked up the scent and lifted into the sky.

  Wolf watched them go--but decided not to follow. If there was trouble, they would alert the pack. That was what ravens were for.

  Watching Rip and Rek flying east reminded Torak that he had things to do: He needed to build a shelter and set some snares.

  Wolf knew before he did that he was heading into the Forest. Wagging his tail to show that he understood, he bounded off to play with the cubs. Torak pulled on his leggings and started for the spot

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  by the stream where the beavers were busy. He heard the crack of a tail-slam.Beware! Intruder!But they weren't really scared, as they knew he would only take the wood they couldn't use themselves. He chose three saplings which they'd gnawed through but hadn't been able to drag away, because they'd got stuck halfway down. Back at the denning place, he built a lean-to, filling in the sides with branches and bracken. Then he made his way through the Forest, and at the black beach he dismantled his old shelter and wiped out all trace of his presence.

  The wound on his chest was painful and hot, so he dressed it with chewed willow bast and bandaged it with buckskin from his jerkin. By the time he'd finished, he was shaking with fatigue. He'd done too much. He must be weaker than he thought. Curling up at the edge of the trees, he fell asleep. He dreamed of Renn. He felt her presence, but couldn't see her. He could hear her, though, as plainly as if she stood behind him.

  "Better look after that wound, Torak," she said in her wry, gentle way, "or it'll go bad."

  "I put some willow leaves on it," he said.