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In time she would give up. He had only to keep at it.

Yet the hound did not rest. Despite her lame leg, she kept after him. At one point, as he stopped at a stream, she came up behind him and moved past him, not bothering to drink at all.

As if to prove that she could do whatever he could. And more.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The Hound

IT HAD BEEN seven days of ruthless pace-setting by the bear. And still the hound kept at it, following him north to the wild man, dragging her wounded leg. She did not know why the bear was angry with her.

She was too stubborn to care. She only knew she would not let him beat her.

They had just entered a rocky forest in the foothills of mountains so large that they made the hound feel dizzy at the sight of them when the bear tottered and collapsed without a sound.

The hound slowed and approached him, sniffing. He smelled nearly as much like death as had the fawn they had rescued from her mother’s womb. His fur was matted and his eyes were crusted shut.

She could see his chest moving evenly, however. He had spent seven days without a full night’s sleep, and he had not stopped to eat more than a few berries and roots and to drink from streams. She had taken down a large rabbit twice, and a field mouse several times, but the bear was relying on the wild man’s magic to keep him going. In that sense, she supposed, it was a wonder he had lasted this long.

She was so tired. And now that she had the chance, she would not waste it with thinking. She felt all hound as she pressed her back against the bear’s, almost as if they were back in the cave, and fell into the deepest sleep of her life.

When she awoke, it was with a start. It was bright daylight.

She had fallen asleep near dusk.

She could see ants and other creatures crawling on the bear, who was still asleep. And then looked to see them on herself.

She brushed them off, then carefully plucked them from the bear. She did not want him forced to awake before he was ready. His breathing was still very deep and regular, and he felt warm enough.

But when she pulled her body away from his, he stirred, then blinked at her, and shuddered.

The bear moved stiffly and slowly at first, making his way to a nearby pool of water. It was dark-colored, crusted over with moss, and it smelled ripe. But he drank it, and so did she. Her mouth was dry and her tongue thick after a night’s rest—and more—without drink. Especially after the week that had preceded that night.

She thought she could sleep another day and night through if she were given the chance. But when she turned to look at the bear, she did not dare try to speak of it with him, even in her wordless way. He had that faraway look in his eyes again, and then he put his head down and began to move forward.

They walked until late afternoon, when the bear seemed to stumble with every step. The hound barked at the sight of some berries.

He tottered toward them. The bush was low enough that he had to lean to one side to reach them.

When he had finished eating, he looked a little better.

That was when the hound’s eyes grazed over a rocky outcropping and saw a small pack of wild hounds, all gray except around their eyes, where their skin was white.

There were five of them, two larger than the others. Her mind instantly categorized them as lead male and lead female, but if that were so, why only three others? That was not nearly enough for a healthy pack.

Had they been attacked?

She saw no injuries on them.

She turned to look at the bear.

He saw the hounds as well. And was as curious about them as she was. Even in his current state, his eyes narrowed and took in every detail.

If there was an attack, thought the hound, it would be five against two—not good odds.

But the hounds did not attack.

They simply stared back at the bear and the hound. The largest, the lead male, even seemed to nod at the bear, as if they had met somewhere before.

The hound knew that the bear had traveled many places before he had settled in the forest near Prince George’s castle. But that would have been