the blackfly are gone, I head to the spot I have marked near the Great Hall, where the pine needles are soft and fragrant. There are trees that protect my naked body from the coldest breezes but also serve as a sounding board for Evening Song.
When the change is done, I wake to dream of the wild. Shaking out my fur, I throw back my head and call to my Pack, listening so that I can be sure that wolves who have positions are in them. Then I start my run for Westdæl, letting Homelands flood my mind: NighthawkWheekWheekWheek, AspenGossip, OldDenDryCold, WarmDampDenSkunk!, Fireflies, RattlerJump!, HayFernThickUnderPawsSllloooow, BeaverSlapSplash.
The 7th is already there when I reach the Gin. For whatever reason, my eyes search out Constantine first. He is carrying a boulder the size of a juvenile bear. He drops it so suddenly that I smell blood mixed with earth and stone. He pulls down his sleeves.
The wolves of the 7th have arranged huge stones and small boulders into a low wall across the break between Westdæl and the High Pines, as though they are trying to make sure that nothing will leak out or, even more importantly, nothing will leak in.
As soon as Sigegeat lowers his eyes in recognition, I run, deliberately crossing into the Gray’s territory. Then I slow, waiting for her to come. Eventually, I smell her. She’s from cold lands and has a cold scent that could easily be missed if I didn’t already know it. When I feel her nearby, I lean into my hips, my front paws on the ground before me, my tail wagging slowly. Come, my old, cold friend, let me entertain you. Let me keep you safe from a wolf’s most dangerous, most fatal instinct.
Curiosity.
The Gray, as wary now as she was before, simply watches my invitation to play. Time is running out and I need to get her toward the south side of the mountain, away from the Gin. I start bounding toward her, then cutting away well before I reach her, just so she would know there is no aggression to it. Finally, the Bone Wolf joins in, jumping toward me, chest out, tail whipping back and forth. I run away, circling back. His leg is better but not perfect. I make him work to keep up with me.
The Gray has been moving silently behind us at a distance, at the ready in case play should turn into something else and her mate needed her. I am very careful not to touch him: Varya had always been a fierce fighter, and I don’t want there to be any confusion about my intent. I would never hurt her, which would put me at a disadvantage if she felt threatened and attacked.
She comes closer and I squat back into my haunches again, tail wagging, my forelegs low to the ground, watching her consider me.
I yelp, flick my ears, ask her without words to remember me.
Remember me. Just a little.
She cocks her head to the side. I watch her eyes move to her mate, a silent signal to him. Then she finally comes forward, slowly, slowly and stands in front of me, chest high, tasting the air around me.
Only the tip of her tail twitches.
I stay low and wait.
Varya had always been so controlled, but I really need the Gray to let go, so with a quick and gentle twitch of my paw, I bop her nose. She looks startled. I wag my tail, just about to reach out again when she leaps.
Zigzagging across Westdæl, I lead them to the southernmost area of her territory where it was ringed by the embrace of Homelands, though all the wolves of the Great North have been told in no uncertain terms to keep their distance downwind.
As soon as I slow down, she throws herself at me, her foreleg across my shoulders, her jaws on either side of mine. If we had hands and tongues instead of fangs and claws, maybe we would hit each other and say “Tag, you’re it,” but we don’t.
For us, even play involves risk and I didn’t know how much the forever wolves know or remember, but aside from the scrape of her fang across my muzzle, the Gray doesn’t hurt me.
Until that loud alarm goes off and all hell breaks loose. The Gray and the Bone Wolf are instantly on alert, racing north to find out what they need to fight. They have a head start and I need not to catch