The Riddle - Alison Croggon [189]
Maerad was treated as an honored guest, but despite their friendliness she felt a little outside the close-knit relationships of the pack. She understood after a couple of days that they had left the younger and older wolves with Inka-Reb; Ka had only taken the strongest from his pack. One night, the wolves sang for those they missed, standing in a circle and singing long ululations of a strange beauty that made Maerad shiver.
Unlike with Dharin’s dogs, there were very few scraps; occasionally Skira might go far enough to offend Ka’s dignity, and would warrant a snarl and a nip. Maerad began to understand that for all their wildness, the wolves were gentle beasts. At night, they slept close together for warmth, and often she would wake with a wolf’s forepaw slung over her back in casual affection.
Ka and Neka were mates and the pack leaders, either one taking charge according to need. Neka was usually the leader as they traveled, being the more skilled at finding routes and having the most sensitive nose; she could smell a deer from more than a league off. Ka was the better hunter, although both were very skilled, as Maerad discovered when they made their first big kill.
The pack was subdued on the third day, with no teasing or games, as hunger began to gnaw at them. Maerad was starving; the huge meal she had devoured before they left had been digested, and all she could think about was her need for food. The pack strung out as they ran, questing for a recent scent. Toward midday, Neka found a fresh trail, a small herd of deer, and the pack turned east to follow it, traveling against the wind. When they drew near to the herd, they stopped.
Only three wolves hunted: Ka, Neka, and another younger male, Oraka, who was almost the image of Ka. The rest of the pack simply lay down and waited, happy to rest, flicking their ears and licking themselves. Maerad was curious to see the hunt, but clearly the other wolves had to stay out of the way: this kill was too important to be disrupted by inexperienced hunters. She pricked up her ears; she could smell the wolves, but she could not hear a sound as they stalked the oblivious deer. A little later there was an explosion of activity: she heard the sudden rush as the three wolves leaped at the deer, the herd’s stampede of surprise and fear, its cries of alarm, the terrified grunting of a dying animal. She was so hungry that she felt no pity; instead she began to drool, and waited impatiently for the signal to come and eat.
Before long, Ka trotted back and the pack leaped up eagerly and followed him. The hunters had killed two deer, thin scrawny beasts barely scraping through a hard winter, but still good to eat. They began to tear at the warm carcasses, eating ravenously. As they ate, two big ravens flapped down at a respectful distance and waited for their chance at the carcasses.
The wolves rested after their meal, dozing or playing idle games, until Ka shook himself and stood up. Then they were off again.
Maerad smelled the mountains before she saw them: it was the scent of pine, pungent on the cold air, drifting from the forests at their feet. They entered the forest on the fifth day, following a trail made by humans, although they did not use the track and instead ran beside it. They reached the mountains the next day, just after they had killed again.
The pass began, as the Gwalhain Pass had, with two standing stones. From there Maerad could see the road winding around the base of the first mountain. Warily the wolves crept up to the pass, alert for any human scent, but they could smell nothing. No human had passed this way for weeks.
Peering past Ka toward the standing stones, Maerad wrenched her mind back to her human memory, which in her wolf life had sunk to the back of