That was all true, which didn’t make me like it. Unnan smirked. Tlitoo tapped his beak against a rock to get our attention.
“Wolves,” he gurgled.
“You three pups can’t go anyway,” Ruuqo said, ignoring the raven. “You don’t know enough to keep from making mistakes. Kaala will go, and we’ll send an older wolf with her.”
That made me mad. If we’d left it up to the adult wolves, we’d all have been killed by the Greatwolves at autumn’s end. I needed my leaderwolves’ help, but it infuriated me that they thought they could manage the humans better than we could.
“We’ve done fine on our own so far.” I tried my best to keep my temper from my voice. “Ázzuen, Marra, and I can handle the humans.”
“You can handle the youngest of them,” Rissa said, stretching in the sun that had begun to seep into the clearing. “The young of any creature are more open to new things. The older humans, the ones who hold the power, may be more difficult.” The condescension in her voice made me want to bite something.
“Wolves!” Tlitoo quorked, more loudly.
“We also need the approval of the other packs in the valley,” Trevegg added. He had taken over Zorindru’s resting spot beside the watch-stump. “Even if their survival depends upon our success, they won’t be comfortable with three pups in charge.”
“We’ll send Trevegg with Kaala,” Ruuqo said, ending the discussion. “But the question of how to get the meat to the humans remains. If you just walk into their homesite, even with meat, they will be threatened.”
Ázzuen had been silent through all of this, sulking because he was not to be allowed to go to the humans. “There’s a way,” he said. There was an edge of impatience in his voice, as if he was annoyed that no one else had been quick enough to figure out what he knew. It was the first time I’d ever heard him disrespectful of senior wolves.
“What way?” Ruuqo asked, warning in his voice.
It was Tlitoo who answered. He stalked over to stand between Ruuqo and Rissa. “You do not have to go to the humans, dourwolf. We will bring them to you.”
“And why would they follow you?” Ruuqo asked.
Tlitoo picked a bug out of Rissa’s fur and swallowed it.
“We take the humans to prey many times,” he said. “As we do for you.”
Ravens often brought us to prey, living or dead. They could find it much more easily than we could, but they couldn’t kill a horse or a deer. And even though their beaks were strong, it was difficult for them to tear through thick hides to get to the meat. When they alerted us to prey, we tore the meat from the carcass, or killed living prey, and shared it with them. I’d always thought it was a unique relationship. So, apparently, did Ruuqo.
“You give prey to the humans?” he demanded. “When there is not always enough for us?”
“We lead humans to prey when it suits us,” Tlitoo responded. “They leave behind more meat than you do and are not as fast at catching ravens. Did you think we would allow ourselves to starve every time you are slow chasing prey?”
“You knew of this?” Ruuqo asked Ázzuen.
“I followed them once, when I went to BreLan’s
tribe
,” Ázzuen said, using the humans’ word for their pack. Ázzuen’s human, BreLan, and his brother, MikLan, were part of a tribe a half-day’s walk from TaLi’s home. “I saw them show the humans where an antelope had fallen off a cliff and was dying,” Ázzuen continued, his nose in the air. He was risking trouble speaking so rudely to Ruuqo. “I asked Tlitoo about it.”
“Do you want the ravens’ help or do you not?” Tlitoo asked, raising his wings. “If not, I will find someone who does. Stone Peaks might. Tree Line pack might.”
“Yes,” Trevegg interrupted before Ruuqo could answer. “We would welcome the help of the ravens. It would be an honor.”
Tlitoo considered him for a moment. “Then I will tell my friends. We will bring the humans. Yes, wolf, your humans,” he said when I opened my mouth to speak. “I know where they will be. Their minds are nearly as simple as a wolf’s.” He turned again to Ruuqo. “When you have managed to capture something bigger than a dirt squirrel, I will come for you.” With that he took flight, leaving us to plan the hunt.
Two days later, I placed a piece of deer belly on the pile of meat we had set aside for the humans and watched as Yllin and Minn chased scroungers away from what was left of the snow deer carcass. Hyenas, of course. They were always the first to show up when someone else had gone to the trouble of killing something. Minn and Yllin were the pack’s young-wolves, one year older than us pups. Yllin had helped me throughout my puphood, encouraging me to persevere when other wolves in the pack thought I would die as a smallpup. She was a strong wolf, and many in the pack assumed she would be a leaderwolf someday. Minn was a bully and I stayed away from him as much as I could. They were faster than the older wolves and still a bit bigger than we were, so discouraging scroungers was their responsibility. They were also the ones who had driven the snow deer from the Alder Grove to the Great Plain, a huge, flat expanse of grass, tall half-moon-shaped rocks, and dirt. One deer had fallen behind the others, and by the time it got to the Great Plain, it was exhausted. We killed it easily. We ate only some of the best parts of the deer—the good organ meat and part of the rich, fatty belly. We would save some for later. The rest would be for the humans.
As Yllin and Minn chased the hyenas off the plain, I trotted over to join Trevegg at the carcass. Werrna—Ruuqo and Rissa’s secondwolf—was with him. She was complaining that we shouldn’t waste such good meat on the humans.
“They won’t appreciate it,” she grumbled as she watched Ruuqo set a large, fatty piece of meat aside. Her eyes were restless in her scarred face. Werrna was not born to Swift River. She had joined the pack when she was already three years old. It’s unusual for a full-grown female to be accepted into a new pack; she’s too much competition for the female leaderwolf. Werrna was extremely strong and always steady, an excellent tracker who never shied away from a fight or challenge, and therefore was a valuable addition to any pack. Still, it said a good deal about Rissa’s confidence in her own power that she allowed Werrna to stay. No one had told us pups how Werrna had gotten her scars, and none of us was brave enough to ask. Werrna was easily annoyed.
Trevegg laughed at her. “You’re as greedy as a pup. You ate two big pieces of the liver, I saw you, and there’s plenty of gres lin left.”
The greslin was what we called the best meat of a kill, the good organ meat and the rich fat of the belly that Werrna so coveted.
“Still wasted on smoke-brained humans,” Werrna muttered.
“We won’t get anywhere bringing them gristle and bone,” Trevegg said. His eyes lit with mischief. “But I will make you a wager.”
“What wager is that, oldwolf?” she said, a reluctant smile beginning to tug at the corners of her muzzle. I’d found out only recently that the adult wolves of our pack liked to place bets on things.
“I will gamble my share of the greslin from our next kill that by the time we have given the humans good meat six times, they will have invited us into their homesite.”
Werrna snorted. “I hate to deprive an oldwolf of his food,” she said, “but it will take at least twenty gifts before the humans allow us within farting distance of their fires.”
“It is a wager, then!” Trevegg said, his tail wagging. “I look forward to eating well!”
I looked at them in astonishment. How could they be making bets on something so important?
With a grin that made me glad I wasn’t prey, Werrna took a huge piece of deer belly in her jaws and dragged it off to the woods. Trevegg watched her go, and for just an instant, the laughter in his face changed to concern. When he saw me watching him, he poked me in the ribs with his nose, dashed past me to the deer carcass, and began to help Ruuqo and Rissa drag it into the woods. I started to follow him, but before I could take a step, the cries of the ravens alerted us to the humans’ approach.
Ruuqo barked sharply. Trevegg let go of the carcass and we ran together to the pile of meat intended for the humans, which we had set in a bright patch of sunlight so the humans couldn’t help but see it. The carcass was now at the very edge of the plain, thirty wolflengths to the left of the meat pile. We wanted the humans to see the carcass, to see that we had brought down the prey we were offering them. But we also wanted to take what was left of the snow deer with us. There was no reason, Rissa had said, to be overly generous.
Werrna and Unnan darted from the woods and ran to help Rissa guard the carcass. Ruuqo left them there and joined the rest of the pack in the shadow of one of the giant rocks, twenty wolflengths to the right of our meat pile. Rissa said that if the humans saw all of us, they would be too fearful to take our gifts. The sheer face of the rock and the tall grass surrounding it allowed the pack to watch the humans without being seen, ready to protect us if the humans attacked but hidden from weak human eyes. Yllin and Minn were guarding Ázzuen and Marra, who had made it clear that they were unhappy about not being able to go to the humans, but Ruuqo crouched at the very edge of the rock, ready to run to our aid if needed. I swallowed hard. The pack was ready.
Then a gust of wind blew across the plain, and a strong scent of juniper, wolf, and smoke wafted across my nose. At first I thought I was imagining it, so many times had I wished to catch that scent again. I shook my head to clear it, and the aroma only grew stronger. I could not mistake it. The scent seemed to be coming from behind me. Keeping my feet planted where they were, I turned my head as far around as I could.
“Kaala!” Trevegg hissed. “Pay attention! You’re not a smallpup to be distracted by a windstorm. Do I have to tell Ruuqo you’re not ready to accompany me to the humans?”
It was all I could do not to growl in frustration. I had to follow that scent, but I also had to give the humans their gift of meat. The wind died down and the scent faded. I lowered my ears to Trevegg.
“Sorry,” I said.
He was starting to say something else to me when the sound of human footsteps told us they were near. He glared at me instead. He would have plenty to say to me later.
The humans, when they emerged from the woods, were a scant forty wolflengths from where we waited, almost directly in front of where Trevegg and I stood. True to his word, Tlitoo had brought BreLan and TaLi, along with several other humans. He flew above them, calling, then landed just in front of them, so that one of the humans, a large, stocky young male, tripped over him and sprawled on his hands and knees, dropping the two sharpsticks he carried. None of the other humans carried more than one. The male stood, glaring at the raven. A second raven landed next to Tlitoo and immediately began preening.
Some of the humans were young, but some were full-grown and dangerous-looking. I knew that we needed the grown humans to accept us if our plan was to work, but for the first time I was afraid of the humans, afraid of what we were about to do. I met TaLi’s eyes and felt myself relax a little in the warmth of her gaze. Still, I was glad to have Trevegg by my side.
One by one, the humans noticed us and their soft conversations stopped. Some of them stepped back. Many raised sharpsticks. I saw a small, trembling boy pick up a rock. BreLan whispered to him, and the little boy lowered his arm, dropped the rock, and smiled. Trevegg and I each picked up a large piece of meat, took a few cautious steps toward the humans, then stopped.
A lean, strong male stepped forward. I remembered him from when we stole food from the humans many moons before. He was the leader of TaLi’s tribe, the one she called HuLin. He was not the largest of the humans, or the strongest, but he held himself proudly, and I could tell by the way the other humans watched him that they respected him. He smelled a little bit of fear and a little bit of anger, but mostly of determination. I recognized that scent. It was what Ruuqo and Rissa smelled like when the pack faced a threat or was about to hunt dangerous prey. It was the resolve to care for one’s pack at any cost. There are wolves who say that humans have no sense of family, that they are selfish and do not care for one another. When I saw the human leader step forward in spite of his fear, I knew that they were wrong.
HuLin’s fear smell had intensified when he moved toward us, but I didn’t miss his quick, sharp glance at the meat we carried. It was still winter, and the humans were all thin from its hungry times. The preyskins they wore against the cold hung loosely off their bodies, and some of them looked like the Vole Eater wolves, who had barely made it through the winter alive. I could tell the human leader was trying to decide whether to run, fight, or to wait to see what we did. All leaderwolves have to face fear if they are to feed their packs, and all wolves must learn to balance the fear of danger with the need to eat. I found it fascinating to watch the human leader weighing the risk of allowing us near his followers and the promise of the meat we carried. The humans were so much like wolves it made the fur around my muzzle prickle.
Trevegg whuffed very softly and began to trot toward the humans. I followed him. We held the meat high up to keep it off the ground but kept our ears relaxed and unthreatening. The stocky male Tlitoo had tripped spoke to HuLin, his voice much louder than it needed to be.
“I’ll stop them if you want, HuLin,” he said, a sharpstick gripped tightly in each of his hands. I could tell by the way he stood, with both feet planted far apart, and by the stiff set of his shoulders that he wanted to impress HuLin. I also heard the fear in his voice and the rapid beating of his heart, and remembered how quickly fear can turn to anger. I paused, and Trevegg stopped beside me, setting down the rib bone he carried. I let go of the haunch meat I’d been holding. The young male’s heartbeat slowed. Trevegg and I both lowered our ears and tails even farther, and tried to make our faces soft and welcoming. Trevegg had told me that was the way that adult wolves greeted frightened pups. I didn’t remember that from my own puphood. I had been too busy trying to stay alive.
When none of the humans raised sharpsticks again, we picked up our offerings and started forward once more. This time, we allowed the meat to drag on the ground so we could keep our heads low. When we got within four wolflengths of the humans, we stopped and set down the meat we carried. The smoke and juniper wolfscent blew across my nose again. I shook my head and sneezed it away.