What he did know was that a wolf, at least he thought it was a wolf, managed to touch his mind and set itself up as his protector. He knew the animal was now ahead of them sweeping back and forth, either hunting food or enemies. He didn’t know how or why, and no story he’d ever heard about related to such a strange thing.
In short, what he didn’t know far exceed what he did. Sharing any of it might prove dangerous in the future—or make him look a fool. Shell was not sure which was worse.
Shell said, “We need to travel more to the right. The southern slopes are where the dragons and Family are supposed to be.”
“You don’t sound too sure about that.”
“I’m not. I’ve never been there, and I’m following clues I’ve heard all my life.”
“Couldn’t you have asked someone?”
Shell didn’t like the tone Quester had used all morning. “Hey, I may have saved your life this morning.”
“If you had put an arrow into each of their legs when they attacked you at the river, we wouldn’t have the problem, so don’t expect me to thank you.”
“Is that what you would have done?” Shell asked.
“Maybe. Then I would have told you all about it.”
Shell didn’t miss the emphases on the single word, but he ignored it. If the situation were reversed, he would probably feel the same. “Did you get a look at that wolf?”
“No, it burst from cover too fast, too unexpectedly. By the time I saw it, the thing was already headed back into the trees.”
Shell continued to walk and think. The trees had gradually closed in around them, adding a protective cloak around them as they moved. While the trees hid the two members of the Dragon Clan, they also hid anyone else in the forest. Twice they smelled smoke, and once the wolf had warned Shell to avoid an area. He had the impression a bear was eating a kill and protecting her cubs at the same time.
The problem became how to tell Quester. He solved it by telling him to turn in a more southerly direction, and he had without question. As strange as it sounded, the advance knowledge of danger placed him in an awkward situation.
There were plenty of stories of Dragon Clan bonding with dragons, sharing thoughts and a dozen other advantages, but he had never once heard of someone bonding with a wolf. Although bonding didn’t seem the right word in this instance, not like fully bonding with a dragon had been explained to him. This felt different.
Maybe the ability to see through a dragon’s eyes didn’t happen right away. No, it had been that way with Raymer and his dragon. Right from the first. Other than warn him of danger, what else could the pairing? He refused to think of it as bonding. But it brought up another aspect he needed to answer. Would the wolf do anything he asked?
How can I ask it to do something? A test? The wolf didn’t speak like people. He didn’t hear with his ears. Even what touched his mind was often unclear, more of an impression than specific communication. The few times it had happened, other than knowing the location of the wolf, had been inklings of information, faint feelings that were almost like experiencing a dream while awake.
As he walked, his mind remained busy thinking about the wolf, and his hands and arms were busy twirling, thrusting, and jabbing his staff to the beat of his steps. Like dancing, using a staff proficiently involved balance, practice, and initiative. But overall, it amounted to the repetition of predetermined moves without thinking about them, and that provided him his best defense—and offense. As he parried an imaginary blow, the next move often involved an attack without conscious thought.
Since Quester was still somewhat upset with him and remained quiet, Shell allowed his mind to drift to the subject of the wolf, and the strange association developing between him and a creature he’d seen only once, for not much longer than the blink of an eye. No, twice, for two blinks. Would the connection they had affect his ability to bond with a dragon? If so, was that a concern? Like all Dragon Clan members, he wished to bond for life with one of the magnificent flying dragons, but only a few people per generations did so. Therefore the chances were small that he ever stood a chance.
But he had something else, although he readily admitted he didn’t know what, or how long it might last. An idea sprang into his mind, and he almost dropped his staff and stumbled to a halt.
“You all right?” Quester asked.
“Sweaty hands,” Shell lied, then began walking again.
But it was not sweaty hands that caused the stumble. Can I initiate communication with the wolf? Will she do as I ask? The idea he’d had earlier about a test came roaring back into his thoughts.
Those two questions flooded his mind with other questions that he pushed from the forefront of his mind. The answers to all those other thoughts depended on answering those two.
Gingerly, he searched for, and found, the place in his mind that told him the wolf had moved further ahead, and was now slightly off to his right, probably on the side of the hill he saw in the near distance. He touched that place in his mind and tried to imagine the wolf quickly moving to the other side of the valley, to the opposite hillside.
Disappointingly, he received no confirmation and decided to let the matter drop until he had the time to pursue it alone. He would also like to draw the wolf closer and get a good look at it. He sensed it was a female, larger than most, but not unduly so. But he wished to lay eyes on her to give it substance, more than faint whispers in his mind.
The wolf’s position was shifting. As Shell monitored it, the wolf moved across the road to the other hillside. It had been sweeping back and forth all morning as if making sure the way was clear, and this might be another instance, a coincidence, but he didn’t think so.
The hills they traveled grew steeper, the vegetation now mostly evergreen, and the air smelled clear and crisp, with a hint of damp pungency. The grasslands had never smelled like it, and Shell decided it held a hint of the perfume a woman in Springtown had worn. He smiled at the memory.
“Look,” Quester hissed in a whisper, but kept walking.
Shell followed his gaze and on a ridge where few trees grew. A smudge of brown on the green hillside pulled his attention. The wolf. She showed herself. Just as he’d asked.
Their communication was two-way. The action confirmed it, although he doubted he could make the wolf do something it didn’t want to do. But he could ask, possibly direct, and she could warn him of danger as it had already done. Despite the limitations of speech and perhaps other limitations yet unknown, Shell realized he possessed something perhaps nobody else in the world did.
“Beautiful,” he said.
“If it’s not stalking us for a meal,” Quester said.
“No, it has had plenty of opportunities to do that if it wanted.”
Quester had stopped and watched the wolf. “It’s as if it protected us back there with those highwaymen.”
“That’s silly,” Shell said quickly, perhaps too quickly. “Like you said before, animals don’t think. They react.”
“True, but I’m beginning to wonder if that wolf is sick or injured. It doesn’t act normal. We have to be wary.” Quester continued to stand and watch it with obvious interest.
To draw his attention away, Shell said, “It doesn’t look hurt. In fact, it looks more than healthy.”