Chapter 7

I'd slept poorly again and awoken late to find Chance gone. Our den was beneath a broad pine whose heavy branches swept low over the ground. It was soft in there and warm, and well protected from the chill of a winter not yet arrived, but soon. It was coming and I knew the rain would give way to snow one of these nights. I could feel the cold coming inside me.

This morning was clear, however, like the one before it, and the day would be warm enough. I was hungry, but only my body, and my mind was but dimly aware of the need for food. It had been three days since I'd last been home and slept with my brothers. They'd tried to follow me when I'd left, Bandy leading them in their chase as I ran off. I'd led them away from the den, of course, and the dogs rarely ventured so far into the forest anyway, but I was always cautious and protective of my mate.

I'd lost them finally, smiling at the sounds of their frustrated barks and unhappy baying. I'd crossed the stream twice and even ran along it for a good distance before climbing a steep ravine and into the hills to circle around, through the meadow where the pack had moved in late summer, they hadn't made permanent dens such as mine, but used it temporarily as they followed the game lower, and a month or two later they'd moved on once more. The other wolves were gone now, not too far, but enough so that I felt the loneliness. I'd never been a part of them, but just the closeness of their kindred hearts had been a comfort. It had kept Chance near me as well, but now I understood he was restless to join them. They would hunt together and grow fat before the lean months of winter which lay ahead.

Slipping from the comfort of our den, I was able to stretch and stand upright, reaching up with my arms and enjoying the sensation. I'd go to the stream and bathe, collect the over-ripened gooseberries that grew along the banks and breakfast on their tart flavor. The bushes were thin by now, however, and I wondered if I couldn't catch a rabbit perhaps, although I had little taste for raw meat really, and my stomach was too gentle for such fare normally. I was annoyed with my hunger and inclined to dismiss it as I didn't want to go home yet.

I made my toilet and washed myself in the cold water as it rushed around my legs to the knees. I used smooth stones and sandy mud on my body, and tree bark on my hair. It was thick and dirty by then and I pulled a tick off my thigh, frowning at it and knowing there would be others. I'd need a real bath when I returned home, the two Indian boys would see to it anyway. They'd grown used to grooming me, even shaving my sex with shy smiles and blushing cheeks, and it was one of the few pleasures I still enjoyed there. Mostly I only felt the frustration of having no Master to care for me properly and I'd very little hope left of finding one.

Fate, which had once been so generous with me, was now pressing upon my heart with bitter claws and I fought it, but only weakly as I grew smaller inside with every day that passed. It was unnatural state for me, to be melancholy, and I ran to escape it. The adrenaline would help as I pushed myself to exercise and leave the stream behind, letting the air dry me as I moved quickly through the forest. This too was a pleasure and I'd found that if I pushed myself hard enough and long enough there would come a warmth to swallow my grey mood. It didn't last long enough, but it would make me smile and I was searching for Chance in any event, wanting to find him and spend our time together before he left me to rejoin his brothers.

I hadn't gone far at all when I heard a sharp crack, like thunder, but short and muffled somewhat. It was a curious sound and I'd heard it before, but this seemed different, closer perhaps, and it filled me with an uneasy fear. It was an unnatural noise, different than the sound of snow breaking in the mountains in late winter, but similar. That was what it reminded me of, but even that offered me little comfort and I leapt from the trail I'd been following into the brush, crouching there and sniffing the air.

After a few moments, when there was nothing else to alarm me, I moved slowly, keeping to the shadows and I couldn't give a specific reason for my anxiety. Perhaps it was my mood, or more likely the lack of proper rest and the weak memories of my dreams which had always seemed a foreshadowing of something else, something to come. I had lost much of my hope, but not all of it, and that was the real reason possibly. I'd come to expect something, but I didn't know what, only ... Something, to take me by the hand and guide me. This strange thunder out of a clear autumn morning could be it, as much as it could be anything else, and my spirits were desperate to rally to that cause. I was afraid though, for precisely those reasons, and I had no desire to suffer another frustrating disappointment.

So I held my heart in check and forced myself to move slowly, keeping my feet soft and staying to the moss and grass where it grew in the forest's weak light. I checked the wind and held myself low and I found myself enjoying that game, stalking a sound which was long gone seconds after I'd heard it. I moved quicker, picking up my pace finally, and my mood was improved, so that I was running again and getting very near the meadow. I could see the trees and brush thinning ahead, giving way to the blue sky and the tall green grass. It excited me, for no other reason than I'd always liked that place and perhaps Chance would be there, for the scent of wolves was in the air.

The wind shifted and I caught another smell suddenly, faint but distinctive and I came to a sudden stop, my heels digging into the dirt as I dropped to my hands and crouched there. It was blood, fresh and near, and I crept to the edge of the meadow and found it on the grass. The long, broad leaves were stained near a trampled path freshly made and I could smell the musk of the animal that had passed recently, only minutes before. A deer, injured and bleeding, but not so badly. It had been running and leaving a trail of crimson on the leaves and stalks, not upon the earth itself, but only where the grass was high.

It had been running for the safety of the forest, crossing the meadow, but turned suddenly away and I knew why. There was a howl, faint but carrying on the crisp morning air. The pack was giving chase. One of them was making the sound, it wasn't a chorus, just a lone wolf and he was herding the deer towards the others who would be silent and stalking, laying in wait for their prey to find them. One or two would be chasing, making noise and snapping at the animal's hooves to tire the beast and drive it on. The wolves had come out of the forest and turned the deer away and now I followed their trail easily, seeing the events as if they were happening right in front of me.

I ran then, as fast as I could, wasting no breath on the joy I felt in the depths of my belly. My heart was rushing and there was a hunt on and I wanted to see it, to be a part of it, if only from a distance. The pack wouldn't let me join and they'd guard their kill jealously. I'd have to be wary when I found them, vigilant in my approach, but what a great game this was! It called to my spirit irresistibly and I couldn't have let the moment go even if I'd wanted to. Chance would be there, I knew, and he'd have his share of the kill and bring some of the meat for me. Some scraps of muscle and fat, not much and I didn't require it, but he was my mate and we'd have that small victory together at least.

The trail led across the meadow and into the hills and I was gaining on them, the deer turning this way and that in its fright and confusion, only to be goaded once more upon the path chosen by the wolves. The pack would not be far off now and I hastened to find them, climbing through loose gravel and the short, tough shrubs and grasses which grew there. We were close to the place where the pack had made their summer dens, the odd bowl shaped hollow in the hill. I scented them now as they were upwind and I could hear the two chasers plainly.

They were down slope and still some distance from me, and the deer was caught finally. It was a large buck with sharp antlers and thick muscles, winded and weakened, but still dangerous. He was turning and kicking up dirt as he snorted and clung to his defiant life. His mouth was foaming and he lowered his great head, swiping at the two wolves who'd chased him so long, young males barely old enough for their first real hunt. They danced and barked and one circled too closely so that the deer caught the wolf suddenly with a powerful kick, his back leg snapping into the wolf's shoulder and sending the animal limping off quickly with a sharp yelp of pain. The other leapt in at the distraction, not to attack, but to antagonize and wear the buck down. The pack was close and I could see them as shadows among the rocks and bushes, moving closer, and they would take him down soon.