The mind of the wolf understood the concept instantly. It ran after Camilla, chasing the scent. Shell knew where the wolf was, and the direction, so he adjusted their direction to reach a place ahead of it and intercept the wolf. He said to Henry while pointing at a white-peaked mountain, “We need to go there.”
Henry didn’t object, ask why they needed to change directions, or question the need for the sudden departure. He simply accepted and tried to keep up.
Instead of following an easy path along the river at the lowest point in the valley, they trudged across at a shallow place and trudged up the other side. When they reached the summit, Shell pointed again, and they went down the other side, then into a forest thick with tall trees and a tangle of paths and trails.
Shell led them from one path to a trail and through underbrush so thick they almost swam through the tangle of vines. Henry never once asked why they were doing it.
The slight touch of the mini-dragon tingled, which didn’t surprise him at all. The stories all told the same thing. When Dragon Clan was in danger, dragons often appeared. That gave substance to the stories of Dragon Clan calling down dragons for help.
It remained at a distance, and dusk turned into first dark, the dragon’s touch faded as it found a place to roost. The wolf kept moving. Shell continued long as possible, then pulled to a stop.
“We’ll have to spend the night here.”
“Is someone chasing us?”
“No, a friend of mine might be up ahead, and need help.”
Henry gave him an odd look, one of disbelief. But he held off asking more as he unrolled his blankets and crawled between them. He was asleep before Shell had his single, large blanket unrolled. As usual, Shell spread it out and laid on half while pulling the other half over him.
Just two ways of doing the same thing, he thought. But the blankets Henry owned were far cleaner than they had been, even if tattered with more than one hole large enough to put a fist through showed their condition.
Unexpectedly, Shell also fell asleep quickly. He awoke in the predawn from the mental touch of the wolf and shook Henry. They chewed on venison strips while waiting for enough light to continue. The location of the wolf had shifted more to the right and Shell adjusted their projected path when the wolf again touched his mind.
Shell pictured three people sleeping around a dying fire. The wolf was close enough to see them, and Camilla was alive. He asked the wolf to let him know when they woke but had no way of knowing if the animal understood, so he asked the wolf to let him know when they moved again. Realizing the wolf still might not understand the concept, he told it to stay in sight.
If the wolf followed them, he would know the whereabouts of the wolf and know the answers by default. He had a flash of understanding of the frustration the wolf had when it had been trying to explain the danger to him. Impressions are not words. They are vague and undefined.
“As time goes on, we’ll understand each other better,” he said aloud.
“Huh?”
Startled, Shell said, “We’ll know each other better as time goes on.”
“I like you, and thanks for all the help, but you are a little strange.”
“I’ve heard that before. Don’t let it worry you. Time for us to go.”
Shell took the lead again and ahead spotted two large mountains, but a gap existed between them that he hoped would carry them through. If it didn’t, they were going to have to backtrack a half day and circle one of the mountains. The wolf couldn’t help him decide to try the pass or circle around to save more time.
The wolf had never been there before, but misunderstood Shell and started to run to the far side of the pass to find if the gap went through. It would save time to know, but there was another consideration, Camilla’s safety. Shell said, go back. Stay with the girl.
The wolf spun and returned.
Shell asked, is she still scared?
An orange leaf formed in his mind. He could ask simple questions and receive limited responses, but the orange leaf indicated the intelligence of the wolf was far greater than he had believed. The wolf didn’t have language or at least no verbal language. It understood, though, most of what Shell communicated and devised clever answers.
Shell said, muttering softly to make sure there was no misunderstanding, attack them if they attempt to hurt her. Kill them.
Moments later, he received an image in return of two dead men with throats torn out lying on the ground and a girl standing beside them. That satisfied Shell that the wolf understood his directions.
As the morning progressed, he became more hopeful the split between the two mountains would be a shortcut to where the wolf waited and watched. By mid-day, he knew he’d made the right decision, and the wolf’s position grew nearer.
Camilla and the two men had been on the move most of the morning, but they moved slowly and under the watchful eyes of the wolf that they had no idea stalked them. Meanwhile, Shell and Henry had cut across the landscape, and as they exited the pass, they were slightly ahead of the other three, but daylight was fading.
The wolf sent the impression they were stopping again, this time at a hut built in the forest, a hunting cabin if Shell understood the message correctly. The wolf told him the scent of the two captors was strongest near the cabin. They had spent a lot of time there, probably their home.
The wolf sent another mental image. It was a bright red leaf turning angry orange, and ending in a vibrant yellow. Camilla’s fear had increased.
“We have to hurry,” Shell said to Henry. The wolf was close, barely over the next hill.
As tired as they were, both jogged up the long slope of the forested hillside, thankful it was not any steeper. Shell felt the nearness of the wolf, increasing with every step, every labored breath. Then a shot of pure, bright yellow flamed in his mind.
Shell heard the first of the screams split the quiet of the forest, and they were not in his mind. Camilla had screamed long and loud. It was followed by another scream that abruptly ended. After the briefest of looks had flashed between Shell and Henry, they sprinted the rest of the way up the hillside and over the top.
The hut stood directly in front of them, centered in a small clearing. It was made of logs long ago, now weathered and rotted with age. A small path led into the forest at the far side. In the center of the clearing, Camilla lay on the ground, straining and struggling to tear free of her bonds, looking like she was hurting herself in the attempts. She twisted, pulled, and squirmed to move away from the wolf.
In the clearing were two men, both laying still, and the fresh blood covering their torsos stained them red. Shell raced into the clearing, his knife already drawn. He sliced the ropes around Camilla’s ankles with a single slash, and then freed her wrists.
She leaped to her feet, eyes wide and terrified, as she held her arms in front of herself in a protective posture. She screamed, “Watch out!”
Shell spun, knife held ready to fend off whatever danger lurked. The wolf stood at the edge of the clearing, blood dripping from her fur, mouth, and chin. Shell looked past the wolf trying to find the danger, as he mentally screamed at the wolf, where’s the danger?
An image of the wolf resolved in his mind.
Henry said, “I think she’s scared of your dog.”
“His dog?” Camilla screamed, backing away from all of them, but her eyes were on the wolf. That’s no dog!”