Bones of the Dragon - Margaret Weis [162]
“I hated it,” he said, but then he shrugged and added, “I think the druids hated it more. I was a lot of trouble. I walked on all fours, you see, and I tore off my clothes and I would crap on the floor. I ate only raw meat, and I ran away lots of times.”
“You look and act like one of us now,” Skylan observed dryly. “An Ugly One.”
“Sometimes I do,” Wulfe muttered. “Sometimes I don’t.” He thrust out his lower lip in a pout. “You think I’m lying, don’t you?”
“I think you have a vivid imagination. You should be a bard—”
“Oh yeah? Watch this.”
Wulfe jumped up and pulled off his robe, dragging it over his head. Dropping to the deck, he began to scamper about naked on all fours. Skylan stared in astonishment. The boy did not crawl on his hands and knees like a baby. He balanced on his hands and the balls of his feet and ran with his knees slightly bent, his rear end up and his head down. In this position, he moved faster than most people would have been able to manage on two legs.
“How do you do that?” Skylan asked.
“The wolves ran on all fours,” said Wulfe. “I didn’t know any different, you see. I thought I was one of them.”
He looked downcast and stood up with a sigh. He did not seem the least bit uncomfortable or embarrassed about his nakedness. He was cold, however, and so he put on his robes again.
“Look at this if you don’t believe me.” Wulfe showed Skylan his hands.
The boy’s palms were hard and covered with thick calluses, reminding Skylan of a dog’s pads. He glanced at the boy’s toes, which were unusually long. Skylan looked into Wulfe’s strange yellow eyes, and he had a sudden, vivid picture of this boy running naked with the wolf pack.
“The druids named you Wulfe because . . .”
“They found me with the wolves, stupid,” said Wulfe. He frowned at Skylan. “I’ve never told anyone that story. The elder said I mustn’t. He said they’d hate me if I did. They would think I was moonstruck and they would be afraid of me and might hurt me. Do you think I’m moonstruck?”
“You think I’m a murderer, don’t you?” said Skylan.
“Maybe,” said Wulfe.
“Are you afraid of me?”
“A little.”
“I guess I’m afraid of you a little,” Skylan said with a wan smile. “But I won’t hurt you.”
“And I won’t hurt you,” said Wulfe earnestly.
Skylan almost started to laugh, then he looked at the boy with the strange yellow eyes who could run like a wolf on all fours, and he thought better of it.
They ate food that was damp from the fog, and when there was nothing else to do, they went to bed. Skylan watched Wulfe crawl round and round among the blankets, making a nest, before finally settling down. The boy fell asleep immediately, no tossing and turning. When he slept, his feet and hands twitched, and he made growling sounds. Skylan took to sleeping on deck.
He lay awake, listening to the water gliding beneath the keel, feeling the motion of the ship over the waves, and staring into the darkness that was thick and damp, and seemed to congeal on his skin.
The dragonship sailed on, ghostly in the fog.
CHAPTER
15
The fog bank, damp and chill, rolled in from the north, sweeping over the sea and moving onto land to shroud the village of Luda in a gray, dank mist. The fog came up so rapidly that it overtook those working in fields or pastures, blotting out the sun, obliterating landmarks. Many lost their way in the thick and blinding cloud, following the road east when they should have taken it west, blundering into forests that should not have been there, coming within a hairsbreadth of stepping off the side of a cliff.
Those in the village built bonfires in the streets and rang bells to guide the lost back home. Norgaard said a grateful prayer to Torval when the last wanderer stumbled safely into the village. People stood in their doorways and watched the tendrils of mist writhe past their houses and wondered uneasily what this unnatural weather portended. The Vindrasi were accustomed to fog, but only in the winter. No one could ever recall such a phenomenon occurring this time of year,