him feel less like a thief. The stag would have been their kill.
He headed back to the hill where he’d buried the containers, and started digging. About halfway through, he took a break to drink from a nearby stream. When he returned, the amber-eyed wolf was sniffing around the hole.
She stuck her head in and dirt came flying out. Strange. He’d have expected her to go for the sack of meat he’d left by the opening. The breeze told him that three other wolves were nearby. When it shifted, he scented two others.
“So, you’re the brave one.”
Dirt continued flying out in steady spurts.
“Or maybe just curious.”
She backed out of the hole, dragging one of the carriers by its handle.
Andret took a deep breath, ready to run after her, but she set it down instead and went back into the hole. She dragged the second carrier out, dropped it, and circled them, sniffing.
“They have no scent, do they, curious one?” With the seals intact, they would have none.
She went into the hole a third time and came out with his backpack. Her tail wagged as she sniffed it.
“Yeah, that one’s going to have lots of scents.” Sweat for one. And the lingering scent of past rations.
He lowered himself to a crouch. She dragged the backpack to him and backed off.
Andret extended his hand. She sniffed it but backed away when he tried to touch her.
“Fair enough. I wouldn’t trust me either.”
He took the survival blanket out of the bag and wrapped it around the meat. The containers went in next. He headed for the stream to fill the canteen.
As he ran for the mountains, clouds drifted in and settled on the horizon.
A yip behind him brought him to a halt. The curious one was panting with exhaustion. He’d been running into the wind and had missed that she’d been following.
Damn.
He stopped and turned around. “Go back to your pack.”
She closed the distance between them and howled. The pack answered. Five wolves came over the hill.
Andret blew out a frustrated breath. He could run much faster than they could. They would slow him down.
Tante would remind him that he’d been bred with the need to bond. It was as much a part of him as his eyes, his elongated cuspids, his nanites.
Lone donai became unreliable, went mad. Other donai were tasked with capturing and beheading them, using swords designed specifically for that task.
The other wolves approached, less cautious than before.
You need them. And apparently they needed him.
He laughed.
“Well, if we’re going to be a pack, you’re going to need a name,” he said to the gray female.
She sat and panted, her tongue swollen from the heat.
“Ena for you, I think.”
The rest of the pack had caught up. They, too, were tired, and lay down to catch their breaths.
The splash of water against rock came from the west. He’d have to parallel a stream if they were going to run with him. And they’d have to hunt.
Andret let them rest a bit and then headed for the stream. They waded in to cool off and drink.
“Better to travel at night, right?”
Ena returned to his heel, still wet, and shook her fur dry, spraying him. Well, if he was going to adopt them, he might as well smell like them. He knelt and extended his hand. She gave it a curious lick and headed for the shade of the trees.
Andret sat down next to her, back propped up against a fallen tree trunk. Ena set her chin on his thigh and fell asleep. The others settled in around him, some close, some still wary enough to choose distance.
He drank from his canteen, and settled in to wait, watching the cloudless sky with its naked, unfamiliar stars.
* * *
—
Three of the wolves stopped along the crest of a mountain ridge. Ena called to them,