Page 64 of Blacktail

“It is only a half-breed,” Quickfoot said. “This pile is for the true wolves. It…it…” She trailed off, looking at Blacktail’s expression.

“Oh?” he growled. “That is the pile for half-breeds? Then I suppose that is where I belong. I am a wolf on my mother’s side only. I would not wish to pollute your clean pile with my half-breed stink.”

Blacktail walked over to where Little One lay, the fur on the back of his neck high. All eyes were upon him. No one said anything. Blacktail sniffed the earth, then settled in and wrapped himself around Little One so that the two of them might share each other’s warmth.

Fang saw that though the rest of them had come to see Blacktail as a creature more prosaic than the one they were expecting, quite the opposite was true of Little One. In his eyes Fang saw something that went beyond love, adoration, or even worship. In Little One’s eyes there was a kind of madness.

v

The next morning the pack woke just after sunup.

Belly-Scar stretched his long body out and groaned. They had taken no large game since the night of the deer. Stomachs were beginning to rumble. “A fat elk for breakfast, hmm?” he said.

“Great idea. See if you can roust out a moose as well,” Gray-Ear agreed.

“Yes, do,” Fang chimed in. He wasn’t kidding. “The four of you split up and cast about for prey. We’ll gather back here when the shadows are at their shortest and tell what we have seen. If you find something you can bring down alone, carry what you can back with you. Blacktail, would you care to walk with me?”

Blacktail stood and shook himself off. “I don’t know your lands. Are you sure I won’t be a burden?”

“Quite sure,” Fang said. “Please.”

“As you will.”

The rest of the pack slipped off into the forest. Little One cast a longing glance over his shoulder as Blacktail left. He made no protest.

Fang led Blacktail down to the good stream. “Here, drink your fill. There’ll be a bit of climbing, and it’s thirsty work.”

“Climbing? Are we hunting birds?”

“Goats, actually. It’s a sort of mountain sheep. They’re not bad eating, if you can catch them.”

“It seems a strange thing to hunt,” Blacktail said.

“It is,” Fang said grimly. “But the prey have become thin around here of late.”

When they had drunk their fill, they started up the rocky slope. The grade was steep and left both of them a bit out of breath. About halfway up they paused at a rocky outcropping. The view that opened up before them stretched for miles. Below them, the tallest trees poked through the morning mist.

“This is good country,” Blacktail said.

Far below them came a distant clatter of falling rock.

“It is,” Fang said. “My father hunted here, and his father before him. Belly-Scar is my pup. Likely he’ll lead the hunt here when I am gone.”

“Likely, yes. I imagine that is a comfort, knowing your place in the world.”

Fang thought that a strange thing to say. After a moment’s thought he asked, “Was it true, what you said about being a half-breed?”

“It was,” Blacktail swung his massive head around to look at Fang. “What of it?”

“Nothing,” Fang said quickly. “Nothing whatsoever. That sort of thing is only a tick in Quickfoot’s fur. I myself am pretty fond of Little One. He’s very clever. He’s also got the sense to mind his business when Quickfoot comes waving her tail in his face.” Fang looked up at Blacktail with rueful eyes.

Blacktail wagged in understanding.

“As far as that goes, I’ve nothing against dogs in general. Half-breeds, either. If I found a penitent dog who seemed fitting, I might take him into the pack. The way things stand now, we might have trouble taking down larger game, in the happy event we ever found any. I was just curious who your father was.”

Blacktail seemed mollified by this. “I never knew for sure,” he said. “I have heard things…hints, I suppose, but nothing definite, not from anyone I fully trust. My mother died before I thought to ask. But I’ve always thought he must’ve been a dog—wolves are scarce where I come from. Interbreeding is fairly common.”

“Ah, wait a moment. Your northern accent is a bit strange to us, and I think also that some of the words in your land may mean different things. Around here, a dog is a four-legged animal, distant kin to the wolf, but smaller and dumber. Ofttimes they are found living in the den of the two-legs. The word you want, I think, is horse.”