‘You can do that?’ Kally had asked, eyes wide.
‘I must,’ Daine had replied. ‘Otherwise my hunting would be – dirty. Vile. When I go, I hunt like any other two-legger, looking for tracks and following trails. And I’ll tell you something else. I kill fast and clean, so my game doesn’t suffer. You know I can, too. I almost never miss a shot.’
‘I suppose, if that’s how you do it, it’s all right,’ the girl had said, though she still looked puzzled.
Daine had snorted. ‘Fairer than them that kill an animal for its horns or skin, so they can tack it on their wall. I hunt to eat, and only to eat.’
When she reached the camp, it was nearly dark. The pack had gone, leaving Russet, Numair, and Kitten with the pups and horses. Once Daine appeared, Russet left to hunt for himself. Numair, who had started a pot of rice, smiled when he saw her, but he looked preoccupied. From experience she knew it did no good to talk when something was on his mind, so she let him be.
Once her rabbits were cleaned, spitted, and cooking, she groomed the horses and Cloud, oiled rough patches on Kitten’s hide, and wrestled with the pups. She ate quickly when supper was done, and cleaned up without bothering Numair. He wandered to the opposite side of the pond, where he stretched out on the ground and lay staring at the trees overhead.
Russet came back, grinning. All that was left of a pheasant who had not seen him in the brush was a handful of bright feathers in his fur. He panted as Daine pulled them out, then licked her face.
‘Would you help me do something?’ Daine asked, and explained the badger’s lesson.
It sounds interesting, the young wolf answered. What must I do?
‘Nothing,’ the girl said. ‘I have to come into you.’ Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and let it go. All around she heard familiar noises. Numair had gone to sleep. Cloud drowsed where she stood, dreaming of galloping along an endless plain. Kitten sorted through a collection of pebbles, muttering to herself. Daine closed out everything but Russet’s sounds: his powerful lungs taking air in and letting it go, the twitch of an ear, the pulse of his heart.
She drew closer and closer until his thoughts crept into her mind. On the surface were simple things, like the shred of pheasant caught on a back tooth, the coolness of the packed earth under his body, his enjoyment of being with her. Below that was the powerful sense of Pack that was part of any wolf, the feeling of being one with a group where everything was shared.
The change from her mind to his was gradual this time. It felt as if she were water sinking into earth, becoming part of him in slow bits. When he blinked, vision came in blacks, whites, and greys, and she knew she saw through his eyes. Her ears picked up the tiniest movement, from the scratch of Kitten’s claws on her pebbles to the grubbing of a mouse in the reeds. He inhaled, and a rich bouquet of odours came to her: the individual scents of everyone in the clearing, wet earth, pines, the fire, moss, traces of cooked rabbit and plants.
He sniffed again, and caught a whiff of scent from the trench Daine and Numair used as a privy. The girl was amazed. She disliked that smell, and had dug the trench far from the clearing where they ate and slept on purpose. She certainly couldn’t detect it with her own nose. Not only could Russet smell it clearly, but he didn’t think the trench odour was bad – just interesting.
Silly galloped over to leap on Russet’s back, and Daine was back within her own mind. ‘Thank you,’ she told Russet in a whisper.
Thank you, he replied, and trotted off to romp with the pups.
She stretched, not quite comfortable yet in her skin. The change to her own senses was a letdown. As good as her ears were, they were not nearly as sharp as the wolf’s, and her nose was a poor substitute for his. While she was glad not to be able to smell the trench once more, there had been plenty of good scents available to Russet.
‘At least I see colours,’ she told Kitten. ‘That’s something.’
The pack returned with full bellies as she was banking the fire. They had fed on a sheep that had strayed from its flock, reducing it to little more than a handful of well-gnawed bones.
Daine frowned when she heard this. ‘But that’s one of the things that make two-leggers hunt you, when you eat their animals.’
They will not find out, Brokefang said calmly. When you ran with the pack before, you warned us about human herds. We cannot stop eating them. They are slow, and soft, without hard feet or sharp horns to protect them. What we can do is hide signs of the kill. We sank what was left in a marsh, and we dragged leafy branches over the place where we killed, to hide the blood.
Instead of reassuring her, his answer made her uneasy. Here was more unwolflike behaviour, a result of the pack’s involvement with her. Where would it end? She couldn’t even say the change was only in Brokefang, because the rest of the pack helped him. She had to think of a way to protect them, or to change them back to normal beasts, before humans decided the Long Lake Pack was too unusual – too dangerous – to live.
That plan would have to wait. The badger’s lesson had tired her again. She went to bed, and dreamed of men slaughtering wolves.
In the morning Daine and Numair rode to the town of Fief Dunlath, leaving the wolves behind. Reaching the village at noon, they entered the stable yard of the town’s small, tidy inn. Ostlers came to take their horses. Dismounting from Cloud, Daine took the pack in which Kitten was hidden and slung it over her shoulder, then followed Numair indoors. They stood inside, blinking as their eyes adjusted from the sunny yard to the dark common room. In the back someone was yelling, ‘Master Parlan! We’ve guests!’
The innkeeper came out and bowed to Numair. ‘Good day to you, sir. Ye require service?’ he asked with a brisk mountain accent.
‘Yes, please. I’d like adjoining rooms for my student and me.’
‘Forgive me, mistress,’ Parlan said, bowing to Daine. ‘I dinna see ye.’ He looked her over, then asked Numair, ‘Ye said – adjoinin’ rooms, sir?’
‘Yes,’ Numair replied. ‘If there’s a connecting door, it must be locked.’
The innkeeper bowed, but his eyes were on Daine. ‘Forgive me, sir – locked?’
Daine blushed, and Numair looked down his nose at the man. ‘People have sordid minds, Master Parlan.’ Despite his travel-worn clothes, he spoke like a man used to the obedience of servants. ‘I would like my student to be spared idle gossip, if you please.’
Parlan bowed low. ‘We’ve two very nice rooms, sir, overlooking the kitchen garden. Very quiet – not that we’ve much excitement in these parts.’
‘Excellent. We will take hot baths, as soon as you are able to manage, please.’ A gold coin appeared in Numair’s hand and disappeared in Parlan’s. ‘And lunch, I think, after the baths,’ added the mage.
‘Very good, sir,’ the man said. ‘Follow me.’ He led the way upstairs.
Kitten wriggled in the pack, and chirped. ‘Hush,’ Daine whispered as Parlan opened their rooms. ‘I’ll let you out in a moment.’
The room was a small one, but clean and neatly kept, and the bath was all Daine could hope for after weeks of river and stream bathing. The food brought by the maid was plain and good. Daine felt renewed afterwards, enough so that she took a short nap. She was awakened by a scratching noise. When she opened her eyes, the dragon was picking at the lock on the door between the two rooms.
‘Leave it be, Kit,’ Daine ordered, yawning. ‘You’ve seen locks at home.’
The young immortal sat on her haunches, stretching so that her eye was on a level with the keyhole, and gave a soft trill. The door swung open to reveal Numair in a clean shirt