Wolf-Speaker. Tamora Pierce

The wolves and their guests followed. The path took them on a line that ran parallel to the lake. For a game trail it was wide and, if the tracks and marks on the trees and shrubs were to be believed, used by many animals, not only wolves.

      ‘Mountain sheep,’ Daine commented, showing Numair a tuft of white fur that had caught on a bramble. ‘A wolverine, too – keep an eye out for that one. They’re nasty when they’re crossed.’ Looking up the trail, she saw each of the wolves stop to lift a leg on a pile of meat. Even the females did so, which was odd. Marking territory was normally done only by males. ‘Graveyard Hag, what are they doing?’ she asked, naming one of Numair’s gods. She trotted to the head of the line. ‘What is this?’ she asked. ‘What’s wrong with the meat?’

      Brokefang replied, One of the two-leggers is a hunter of wolves. He leaves poisoned meat on our trails. We are telling him what we think of this. When he comes to check the meat, he will curse and throw things. It is fun to watch.

      Daine laughed, and went to explain it to Numair.

      They made several stops to express such opinions: twice at snares, once at a trap, and once at a pit covered with leaves and branches. Each time the wolves marked the spot with urine and dung, leaving a smelly mess for the hunter. At the last two stops, the horses and Cloud also left tokens of contempt.

      ‘That should really confuse him,’ Daine told Numair and Kitten. ‘He’ll never figure out how horses came to mark a wolf scent post.’

      A lesser trail split from the one they walked; the wolves followed it into a cuplike valley set deep in the mountainside, hidden by tangles of rock. There the woods opened onto a clearing around a pond. At the water’s edge trails crossed and recrossed, and large, flattened areas in the brush marked wolf beds.

      A challenge-bark came from a bunch of reeds, and five half-grown wolves, their colours ranging from brown to frosted grey, tumbled out. They still bore remnants of soft baby fur, and were in the process of trading milk teeth for meat teeth. Eyeing the strangers, they whined and growled nervously, until the pack surrounded them and shut the newcomers off from view.

      Another grown wolf, a black, grey, and brown male, pranced over to say hello. ‘He’s Longwind,’ Daine informed Numair. ‘He was babysitting.’ To the wolf she said, ‘Say hello to my friends. Cloud you know.’ As Longwind obeyed, the girl walked up to the pack. The moment the pups noticed her they backed away.

      Frostfur said with grim satisfaction, I knew bringing strangers was a mistake. Brokefang nuzzled his mate, trying to sweeten her temper.

      Fleetfoot stuck her nose under the belly of one of the male pups and scooted him forwards. We know this isn’t what you’re used to, she told him, but you may as well learn now as later.

      Russet gripped a female pup by the scruff of the neck and dragged her to the girl, adding, Daine is Pack, and if she is Pack, so are these others.

      The female was the one to walk forwards, still clumsy on her feet, to sniff Daine’s palm. She is Leaper, Russet said, and Leaper wagged her tail. The male pup trotted over. He is Chaser, commented Russet. These others are too silly to have names. At that the remaining three pups approached timidly, whining.

      Daine introduced the young wolves to her friends. The pups came to accept Numair, the horses, and Cloud, but nothing could make them like the young dragon. When she went near them, they would run to hide behind an adult wolf. At last Kitten turned grey, the colour that meant she was sulking, and waddled over to the pond. There she played with stones, pretending to ignore everyone.

      Why is she sad? asked Russet. They are pups. They don’t know any better.

      ‘She’s no more than a pup herself,’ Daine replied. ‘I can’t even talk to her as I could to her ma. She looks big, but as dragons go she’s a baby.’

      I see. Getting up, the red-coated wolf trotted over to the dragon and began to paw at her rocks. Soon they were playing, and Kitten’s scales regained their normal, gold-tinged blue colour.

      Daine was wrestling a stick out of the jaws of a pup she had decided to call Silly when Brokefang came to say, We hunt. Since the pups accept you and Numair and the horses, will you guard them?

      ‘We’ll be honoured to guard your pups,’ Daine told him.

      The pack left, and Numair began to cook as Daine groomed the horses. The smell of frying bacon called the pups to the fire, their noses twitching. The new scent cancelled some of their fear of Kitten: as long as she kept to one side of the fire and they to the other, the young wolves didn’t object. When the first pan of bacon was done, Numair gave in to the pleading in five pairs of brown eyes and one pair of slit-pupilled blue, and doled it out to his audience.

      After Numair, the pups, and the horses went to bed, Daine lay awake, listening to the chatter of owls and bats. At the fringe of her magic she felt immortals pass overhead. They weren’t Stormwings, or griffins, or any of the others she had met before. She sensed she would not like these if they did meet. There was a nasty undertone to them in her mind, like the taint of old blood.

      The pack returned not long after the creatures’ presence faded in her mind. Was it good hunting? she asked Brokefang silently, so she wouldn’t disturb Numair.

      He came to sit with her. An old and stringy elk. He gave us a good run, though, he replied. Cloud says you are trying to fit into her skull. It sounds like an interesting thing.

      I tried it once, said Daine. Cloud thinks I might do better with wolves. I would have asked before, but I needed to rest first.

      Are you rested now? he wanted to know. I would like you to try it with me.

      She smiled and said, All right. And thank you.

      Must I do anything in particular?

      No. Just wait.

      She closed her eyes, took a breath, let it out. Sounds pressed on her: Numair’s snore, Short Snout’s moan as he dreamed of rabbits, the pups chewing, Battle washing a paw. Beyond those noises she heard others belonging to the forest and air around them.

      She concentrated on Brokefang until she heard fleas moving in his pelt. He yawned, so close that it felt as if he yawned inside her ears. She listened for his thoughts and found them: the odour of blood from his kill, the drip of water from the trees overhead, the joy of being one with the pack. Brokefang sighed—

      Daine was sleepy; her belly was overly full and rumbling as it broke the elk meat down. She could see young Silly from where she lay; he was asleep on his back with his paws in the air. She crinkled her whiskers in a silent laugh.

      The smells, the sounds. She had never been so aware of them in her life. There was the wind through pine needles, singing of rocks and open sky. Below, a mole was digging. Her nostrils flared. Here was wolf musk, the perfume of her packmates. There was the hay-and-hide scent of the horses-who-are-not-prey, enticing but untouchable. A whiff of flowers, animal musk, and cotton was the girl-who-is-Pack. She looked at the girl, and realized she looked at herself.

      It was a jolt to see her own face from the outside, one that sent her back into herself. Daine opened her eyes. ‘I did it!’

      Numair stirred as the pack got up. ‘You did what?’ he asked sleepily.

      Brokefang washed Daine’s ear as she explained. ‘I was Brokefang. I mean, we were both in Brokefang’s mind. We were wolves – I was a wolf. It was only for a few minutes, but it happened!’

      The man sat up, hugging his knees. ‘Good. Next time you can do it longer.’ He looked at Brokefang. ‘Did it hurt you the way it hurt Cloud?’

      No, the wolf replied as Daine translated. We will do it again.

      The girl yawned and nodded. At last she was sleepy. ‘Tomorrow,’ she promised, wriggling down into her bedroll.

      Brokefang yawned when she did. Tomorrow, he agreed, as sleepy as she was.

      When she woke, it was well past dawn. Numair crouched