as the sleighs whispered over the endless snows, Oskan felt a shift in the patterns of the air. He sat up and looked out over the snowfields to the horizon, but there was nothing to be seen.
“What is it?” Thirrin asked.
“The world’s making weather,” he answered, without taking his eyes from the distant line where land met sky.
“Bad weather?”
“Very bad, I’d say.”
Immediately Thirrin called to the werewolves, and the sleighs stopped. Grinelda Blood-tooth stepped out of the traces, walked back to the two humans, and curtsied deeply. “There’s a problem, My Lady?”
“Oskan the Warlock says there’s bad weather on the way.”
The creature eyed the boy for a few seconds, sniffed the air, and called to the others in her own tongue. A growled conference took place, punctuated with much snuffling, squinting at the horizon, and spitting speculatively into the wind. Finally the leader turned back to them and said, “The warlock’s right, but it’s very faint. We should have three days before it hits us.”
“Two and a half,” said Oskan decisively.
“Then we’ll need to make our own shelter. It’s still another four days’ journey to the border of the Snow Leopards’ lands.”
“Will these shelters take long to construct?” Thirrin asked.
Grinelda Blood-tooth shook her head. “No. An hour at the most. We still have at least two days’ traveling time.”
“Then let’s make sure we don’t waste it,” Thirrin said in her best royal voice.
Grinelda curtsied again, strode back to her position at the head of the pulling team, and with a ferocious howling they shot away across the snows at a startling speed.
But no matter how fast the Wolffolk ran over the Icesheets, they couldn’t outstrip the weather. Over the following day, the stars were slowly hidden from view as a huge bank of clouds advanced across the sky. And with them came a strange whining and howling, thin-sounding in the distance and fitful, like a hunting wolf pack that has picked up a scent. This was the voice of the distant wind, icy and deadly, that hated all living things, and that would drain the life-warmth from whatever it touched.
Over the following days and hours, the wind gradually ran them down, eating up the distance between its blood-freezing cold and the teams of werewolves who ran on tirelessly through the arctic night. Soon Thirrin and Oskan could see a deep gray shadow dancing and swirling on the horizon as the blizzard bore down on them, and the moaning and keening came closer and closer.
At last, the Wolffolk teams stopped and turned the sleighs to face the approaching storm, making a V formation by drawing their fronts together and lashing them securely with hide ropes. Quickly they cut blocks from the icesheets around them, using whalebone blades they’d made sharp and rigid by spitting on them and allowing the saliva to freeze. As one group cut the blocks, another built them into a wall, so that soon the sleighs were surrounded by a boat-shaped barrier that stood to shoulder height and sloped slightly inward. The pointed “prow” of this barrier faced into the oncoming wind and its tail tapered away to a second point.
The blizzard was now only minutes away, and Thirrin and Oskan watched in amazement as the Wolffolk moved at an incredible speed, draping the thick pelts of the tents over both sleighs and lashing them tightly into position to make a secure shelter. The frozen floor was covered as usual with furs, and braziers were lit as they all scrambled inside and settled down to wait for the storm.
In less than an hour the werewolves had built a weatherproof refuge, and not a moment too soon. Suddenly the wind hit them, howling and screeching like an army of giant Vampires. The hide roof of their shelter flapped and shuddered crazily. Thirrin and Oskan were afraid it would be torn away, but it soon became obvious that the hide ropes that lashed it firmly to the sleighs would hold, and they began to relax.
It even became quite enjoyable as the temperature within their ice walls reached comfortable levels, and a cozy sense of safety settled over them. The meat that the Wolffolk served out from their supplies tasted better than it had in a long time. Even so, they still longed for the simple pleasure of a crust of bread or a dish of boiled vegetables.
After the meal, the werewolves began to tell tales and legends of their northern tribe, in which giant bears and magical whales were hunted