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almost let him go.
Reason why she must not snapped her mood of brooding heartache. Skyfire
started up from the rocks.
Her brow furrowed with a determination the rest of her tribe knew better than
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to cross. Song was more than a wolf who had lost a master. He was the key to
the identity of Dreamsinger's killer. For that one name, Skyfire was willing
to undertake any difficulty, no matter how impossible.
Huntress Skyfire raced into the forest. The wolf fled ahead of her. Running
hard, she glimpsed his form as a flash of silver through the glades where the
moons' light struck through. She heard him as a rustle of leaves, the scrape
of claws on stone, and the soft, disturbed breath of air as he sniffed his
back trail for pursuit. Song was fleet, young, and clever enough as a hunter
to have survived through the
Dreamsinger's exile. Yet he was not a maverick by nature; he had challenged
for position, and won acceptance in the pack that ran with the Wolfriders.
Skyfire had fought him once, in the course of helping his master. She had
gained the victory, but Song's submission had not cowed his spirit. His trust
would be troublesome to earn, and time was of the essence. The Huntress
understood enough of wolves to know that she must
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win Song over at once; otherwise loneliness would drive him to identify
irrevocably with the pack.
The two moons lowered with the coming of dawn. Shadows turned vague and gray
under the trees, and in that uncertain light, obstacles became difficult even
for a keen-sighted elf to discern. A wolf, with better sense of smell, had
less disadvantage. Song unavoidably drew ahead. Grimly Skyfire held to his
trail. Exhaustion blurred her purpose; threat to her unborn cub merged with
grief for her Dreamsinger.
As she drove each tired foot into the next stride, the silver wolf who darted
like a wraith out of reach came to symbolize the mate she had lost. If she
could only catch up with the beast, if she could once touch its fur, something
of the compassion she had learned through love might be recovered.
But Skyfire's persistent desperation won no ground. Song's intent to escape
became all the more frantic.
He did not understand the Huntress's motives; his strongest memory of her had
been a fight, after which he had been forced to yield to her will. The wolf
had let her run at her Dreamsinger's side out of submission, not goodwill.
Now, with the master gone, Skyfire's pursuit keyed nothing but a primal
instinct to flee. Years spent with an exile lent the wolf cunning: he was not
habit-bound to any territory.
Where a pack-raised beast would keep to familiar trails, his run a wide loop
around a chosen area of forest, Song ran straight cross-country. He might not
anticipate every twist in the terrain, or fallen log, or stone outcrop. He
might be slowed by unexpected roots, or avoidance of a thicket too dense and
tangled for running. Yet the Huntress who followed was equally disoriented;
the safety of the cub she carried made her uneasy in strange country, where
men might prowl, and unknown terrain lead her into danger.
Eventually her two legs must tire, and then Song could slip like a shadow into
the wood to seek out his own kind.
Still, Skyfire had spent most of the summer season hunting without any
wolf-friend to bear her weight.
Spring's crop of cubs had already been weaned when Woodbiter died, and those
that were inclined to partner an elf had already bonded. Aware her predicament
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must extend through the next turn of seasons, the chieftess had hardened to
compensate. She did not quit, but continued, stumbling and pushing through the
brush, until long
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ú after dawn. The sun blazed high overhead when at last she threw herself,
panting, in a glade.
Song was footsore as well. His belly was empty of game, and his sinews too
spent to hunt. Tail drooping, nose low, he sniffed out a small cave beneath an
outcrop. There, he curled up and slept to recover his strength.
Although Skyfire was too weary to run, stubbornness would not let her quit.
She tracked Song's footprints through last year's leaves, a briar thicket, and
over the moist bed of a stream shrunken down to a trickle by summer. The heat
of midday wore upon her energy, and hunger nagged her belly. Soon, for the
sake of the cub she carried, she must stop for food and rest; but not yet. The
impressions of Song's pad,; told of a stride no longer fluid. The wolf was
tired also, and not so urgent in his flight. Presently
Skyfire observed that his path began to meander, as he searched for a lair to
take cover.
She paused then to wipe sweat from her face. If she found the wolf before he
woke, she had a chance.
The cleft was situated beneath an outcrop of moss-caked stone. Spring water
pooled nearby, protected by a stand of trees. Song's marks were plain in the
mud by the bank. The darkness between the rocks held the warm scent of his
fur. Certain the wolf had laired there, Skyfire retreated from the area with
the care of a seasoned predator. She left no unnecessary scent, and made not a
whisper of noise. Song must not awaken and discover her presence too soon.
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