Before Shell could answer, Quester left the clearing, bow in hand again. Shell removed the smoked meat for fear of drying it out too much during the night if he left it, and wrapped each piece in large maple leaves for no other reason than that they were big enough to wrap around the individual pieces. He split them between their two backpacks, but felt a twinge of guilt when he opened Quester’s.
He refrained from looking inside while filling it. Then he went to the water’s edge, washed his hands and did a slow turn. He also felt eyes on him but saw no evidence to support his feeling. His eyes traveled to Bear Mountain, and to a smaller hill between the mountain and small lake. Perched up there, a watcher could remain hidden while looking directly down at their camp.
Making matters worse, when he returned to the fire and darkness closed about him, Quester didn’t return. Shell spread his blanket and used his pack for a pillow. As his eyes closed, the first whispers filled his mind.
It was not communication with words, but feelings and impressions. For the first time, a sense of satisfaction touched Shell. The whisperer was pleased Shell traveled nearer, but it still conveyed the impression that he must hurry.
Shell sat up, wide awake.
A new whisperer touched his mind, a different voice. Again, it didn’t speak in words, but impressions. It hinted that all was well. It said it would look after Shell and protect him. They were friends.
He leaped to his feet, staff in hand. The new ‘voice’ came from nearby, but he couldn’t say how he knew. Then, in an instant of recognition, he understood. It was the animal that was stalking him. But it was not stalking; it was protecting.
The fleeting mind-touch had already disappeared as he reacted and jumped to his feet. He now made another slow turn, holding the staff ready to defend himself.
“I’m impressed. You heard me coming for a change,” Quester said, emerging from the depths of the darkness under the trees.
“No. Well, I’m a little jumpy, I guess.”
“From now on, I think I’ll call out and announce myself,” Quester said, amused at Shell still standing in a crouched position ready to strike or parry, whichever might be required.
Shell put the staff aside and sat on his blanket, but shifted to his eyes watched across the water to the small hill on the other side of the water. “See anything out there?”
Quester unrolled his blanket, took notice of the meat in his pack, and nodded his approval while reaching for a piece. “Tracks, but nothing fresh. My guess is that it knows our direction and is probably up ahead waiting for us.”
“You’re the one that said animals aren’t smart. So, how can you say that?”
“No, I said they are not innocent or friends, but they’re smart. This one more than others. I’m sure it will be up there, watching us in the morning.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the hill Shell watched.
Shell didn’t share any of the information about the night whisperers. Quester probably wouldn’t believe them if he did, and he might think Shell strange or deranged; stranger than he already acted, for sure. He closed his eyes and waited, knowing what would come.
The whispers resumed. One calling for him, and telling him to hurry, the other cooing protective feelings as if it was a mother cat purring to her kittens.
Great. Now I have a dragon and giant wolf both taking over my mind. There isn’t room in there for three. But he didn’t open his eyes or shut out the mental contacts. He didn’t push them away or encourage them, either. Instead, he settled back and allowed the thoughts and feelings to wash over him.
Oddly, they didn’t scare him, and neither reassured him. He remembered the size of the footprint the wolf left and realized a dragon would be ten times that size. He opened his eyes a crack and peered out, finding Quester sitting across the fire staring at him.
A wolf and dragon in his mind may not be the worst things to happen. Quester was up to something, a secret he wouldn’t share, but it might be dangerous, and Shell wondered again if he should make his way to the mountain without him.
Quester said as if knowing he was still awake, “It’s not natural. The beast, I mean. If it attacked and tried to eat us, that would be natural. If it ran from us like most animals do, that would be natural.”
“Maybe it has other intentions,” Shell mumbled.
“Animals don’t have intentions. They exist. They eat, survive, and reproduce.”
“That’s a cold outlook. I believe they have feelings, of a sort. Affections, for sure. And dislike.”
Quester wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and tossed more wood on the fire. “I guess we disagree. Animals like you because you supply food. They dislike others because they smell danger or fear.”
“Sometimes what we say tells others about us. You, for instance, have never owned a dog.”
“You say that as if it is a fact.” Quester was watching him closely.
“If you ever had a dog you would understand an animal can like you, dislike you, and not because of food or smelling fear. A dog gives affection and demands nothing in return.”
“They do not have emotions.”
Some of them crowding into my thoughts at night have emotions. “You might be right.”
The fire smoked and crackled, filling the night air with pungent smells and orange light. Shell enjoyed the new smells of the hills, the dampness of the lakeside, and the echoes of an owl answering itself across the lake.
As soft as the petals on daisies, the mental touch of the wolf returned. A female touch. The wolf was not a male, he felt certain. Nothing specific was communicated except nearness and protectiveness. The mental link wormed into his mind and found a place to dwell, neither comfortable or uncomfortable, but there when Shell thought of it. He went to sleep with the gentle touch of the she-wolf and knowing he would be safe for the night.
When morning came, Quester stood and silently rolled his blanket while averting his eyes. When Shell stood, Quester said, “Have a good night?”
“I slept well if that’s what you’re asking.”
“No,” Quester said. “I was wondering about you fighting in your sleep. I almost woke you, but didn’t know what you’d do to me if I did.”
“Nightmares, I guess.” Shell didn’t remember anything about them, but the mention brought back the memory of the wolf residing in his mind. He allowed his thoughts to travel to where the wolf had been in his head, and she was still there, a soft and warm pillow within a field of brambles.
He thought of the hill across the lake and the dangers they might face today. A response came from the wolf location in his mind, reassuring him the way ahead was clear. A flash of a trail sloping down a long hillside came to mind, an unfamiliar scene with trees so large a man couldn’t wrap his arms around the trunks.
Quester said, “Outcasts, criminals, and highwaymen live at the edge of the grasslands on the other side. They wait where they have a good view and watch for people like us.”
“How can we avoid them if they are here? They can see us from so far away.”
“We stay in the low places, canyons, and gullies, and we keep trees between them and us,” Quester said as if it was the most natural thing to do.
As they started out, Shell continually felt the presence of the wolf in his mind. For the first time, it had direction. The mental signal emanated from directly across the lake. Later, it changed as they moved past the hill. It came from his right, and then from slightly behind.
Later, Shell glanced up at the side of the hill ahead where the wolf lay and watched, and thought he noticed a bush shake in response. While looking up, he stumbled and almost ran into Quester.