The boy stood silent
on the northern bank at the meeting of the shallow, stony stream and the
wider, more placid river, breathing deep the autumn air and gazing out
over the pearling waters with a look of boundless wonder. For his was
the magic of youth among the hill-people: man enough to take in more
than the sum of his surroundings, animal enough to feel the bliss of a
mind free from distraction.
He had wandered far from his sleeping comrades, just as his friend the
estranged one used to do. He found himself thinking of Kalus now, and
wondered vaguely, perhaps a bit sadly, if he was still alive. Not that
the thought was deep or the pain acute. But it did seem unfortunate
that he had to be cast out, when maybe he was not so strange after
all. Shama missed him.
Hearing a twig crack behind him, he stiffened. Whirling about, he
searched the sloping embankment with startled curiosity. A lone wolf
stood at the crest of the hill, not forty yards away. He wondered what
it was doing so far from its established hunting grounds. Even as he
did so another head appeared, followed by a low, snaking body. The two
did not move, but stood rather in ominous silence, peering down at him
intently.
But they could not be stalking him. There was no reason.
But then an even larger wolf appeared, standing in dark majesty between
the others, a full head taller than either.
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