The Lainuh Krooguh who returned to the Staiklee yurt was a sullen, silent woman who never spoke unless addressed and then only in monosyllables. No one was comfortable in her presence, and she left the yurt only when forced to do so by her natural functions, for she did no work of any kind, only crouched near the firepit, scowling and brooding in utter silence, ignoring all the other occupants of the yurt.
As a consequence, Bettylou was distinctly relieved when she was told by Tim to move their effects to the yurt of Chief Dik, that she might be instructed by the chiefs wives in how to properly run the domicile of a clan chief. Dahnah and Nansee, without even being asked, helped her to gather the clothing and gear and sleeping-rugs, and then lug them—slipping and sliding on the uneven footing frozen beneath the thin blanket of fresh snow—over to the Clan Krooguh chiefs yurt, then arrange them where and as directed by Dik Krooguhs first wife, Mairee.
When Bettylou had thanked the helpful women and they had departed, she set about the task of unrolling her sleeping-rug and coverings. There was no point in unrolling Tim’s, for until the wolf threat abated, he would be at the herders’ camp both night and day.
The two thicknesses of carpeting were placed on the ground, with sheepskins atop them, then the two woolen blankets and, finally, the bearskin Djahn Staiklee had gifted. As she unrolled and laid this treasure out, all three of Chief Dik’s wives—Mairee, Dohrah and Djohn—came over to stroke and admire the rarity.
“It’s not so thick and dense as a winter pelt would’ve been,” remarked Mairee. “but even so, when once it’s been properly lined, one entire chest is going to be required to store and transport it. I’ll tell old Tchahrlz to start making you that chest; he should line it with cedarwood, which seems to help to keep vermin out, and it ought, really, to be bound and decorated in brass or silver or both together. Perhaps your Tim will luck into some of those metals on one of next year’s raids.”
“There’ll be no need to raid for metals if we camp in one of the ruins, as we did ten years ago,” remarked Dohrah. “We must have dug up three or four wagonloads of various metals in those ruins that were called Haiz.”
“Yes and I doubt not that we could’ve found even more had the chiefs allowed us to bide in the ruins themselves, not just camp out on the prairie and ride over every day for a few hours,” added Djohn.
Mairee shook her head. “You should not criticize the decisions of the chiefs, nor should you doubt the rightness of their judgments, sister. Do not forget just how the ancient folk died who made the settlements that have since become those ruins their homes. Uncle Milo himself has warned over and over again that the seeds of those terrible plagues still sleep here and there in parts of every ruin, dormant, but still no less deadly to the careless or the unwary.
“Remember what those horses in that small feral herd we had to join our Krooguh herd told us, years back? How the entire clan—men, women and children—died, all within a week, after camping among ruins? True, they were not a Kindred clan, but I doubt that those plague seeds discriminate between Kindred and non-Kindred folk. Nor do our chiefs, which is why they would never allow a camp to be established very close to a ruined place of ancient settlement.”
With all three of his wives doing duty as matron-archers—one sleeping and two keeping watch at the palisades—Chief Milo took food with Chief Dik that night and, with wolves and wolf packs on the mind of everyone present, he began to talk of wolves, to reminisce of his various encounters with the canny predators over his many, many years of life.
“In the world that existed before this one of ours, you know, in the most of this land, at least, the true wolf was all but extinct. Very few of them were left, and most of those were either not living truly wild and free or were not of pure wolf bloodlines.
“In the immediate aftermath of the deadly calamities that befell that ancient world and its millions of human inhabitants, there were no wolf packs in any of the areas I was able to visit, but rather numerous and highly dangerous hordes of starving dogs—dogs of all shapes and sizes and breeds, all now ownerless, masterless, having little or no fear of mankind and having kept alive so far, since most of them utterly lacked hunting skills, by feeding off dead or dying human cadavers.
“I had some very close brushes with a few of those dog packs, back then, but fortunately very few of those dogs lived long enough to breed more of their kind. As soon as the millions of human corpses were gone and the dogs had to compete with the equally numerous feral felines and the truly wild animals for such food as existed, they lost out and died off in droves; also, those few humans as had lived through the plagues in many cases hunted the dogs for meat and skins to replace worn-out clothing and footwear.
“Some of them survived, of course; we now call them jackals. Others, I am certain, interbred with the coyotes and, I suspect, with the actual wolves. I just don’t see any way that an almost extinct species of predator could have sprung back so quickly in so comparatively short a time period unless a good many of the larger dog breeds—those called German shepherd, collie, chow, Malamute, Samoyed, Rotiweiler, boxer, Doberman, mastiff, great Dane and several other of the so called working and coursing breeds—had joined and interbred with the few widely scattered wolves.
“Over the years. I’ve seen enough to strongly reinforce these beliefs of mine, moreover. I have seen wolves—both living and dead—who possessed dark-purple tongues—an unquestioned mark of the ancient breed of dog called chow. I know that Dik here, like many another hunter, has run into wolves with long, silky coats, or with the hair tightly curled, like that of a sheep.”
The ailing chief nodded his agreement. “Yes, Uncle Milo, and then there are the short-jawed wolves, the ones that some folk call ‘round-headed wolves.’ I have for long heard it attested that they are not pure wolf.”
“Most likely they are not,” agreed Milo. “I’d say that such creatures are throwbacks to the dog breeds that the ancients called mastiffs.”
“Sacred Sun be thanked for the alliance of Kindred and the cats,” said Mairee feelingly. “Were it not for the Wind-sent abilities of the prairiecats, abilities which Wind did not grant to mankind, we never could hope to survive very many of these wolf winters.”
Milo smiled. “And yet, it was because of a winter wolf pack that certain Kindred and I first chanced across prairiecats, many years ago and very far west of this place.”
“Oh, Uncle Milo, tell us of it, please.” The request was almost a chorus from all of those assembled, young and old, and Bettylou’s own voice was added to the others.
Milo took out his pipe and bladder of tobacco and began to stuff the one with the contents of the other. “Well, it was some four or five generations back. There were far fewer Kindred then, and we still were mostly confined to the high plains and the western mountains, not being numerous or strong enough to come down to and conquer for ourselves these prairies. As you know—most of you, at least—winters are usually harder, harsher on the high plains. with deeper snows that lie for longer … and, as I recall it, this winter of which I now speak was a bad one even for those elevations.
Although five clans were camping together for the winter, there were fewer people in that camp than in this one. We had slaughtered the last of the cattle for food and were again running perilously low, so two hunting parties went out, all of us resolved not to come back without enough meat to sustain our folk for a while. I led a group of young men from Clan Esmith and Clan Linszee, while a renowned hunter whose name I now forget led a similar group from Clan Aduhmz, Clan Makfee and Clan Djohnz: they set out toward the southeast, we set out in the direction of the southwest.