“My mate…”
“You may not lie with her, nor cuddle with your pups. They stay with us, and you outside. Do you understand, Yellowscar, or must I name you Yellowbelly to the entire pack?”
Yellowscar flattened his ears and lowered his head.
“I understand. I will earn my way back with blood, pack leader. I promise.”
Redclaw stepped back and looked west.
“Time has become our enemy. Let us go to the river. Another boat should arrive, this of food and tools, yes?”
“Every seven days, and tonight is the seventh,” Yellowscar said, looking pleased that his watch was proving useful in any way.
“Good. Let us see if you can feast upon the first of your twenty.”
Redclaw gathered fifteen of his strongest, including Yellowscar, and then ran toward the water. The ugly grass grew thicker, some of its color turning to traces of healthy green. The moon was bright in the sky, and Redclaw felt pleasure in its light. It was a cool presence, soft on his eyes, unlike the fiery day. With everything so bright, it seemed the world shimmered, the colors flushed and exaggerated. In the darkness, his eyes soaked in the curves of the grass, the drifting of the clouds, and the jutted crevices of each stone, all without long distorting shadows. Up ahead, trees grew, a sign they had arrived at the river the humans called the Gihon.
“Why did you not bring Bonebite?” asked Yellowscar as they slowed, walking on their hind legs instead of all fours.
“Why? Do you feel fright without him to cower behind?” snapped one of the other warriors, brown-furred and wide-shouldered with the name of Dirtyhide. Redclaw shot him a glare, and he nipped at his face to show his displeasure.
“It is no cowardice to want a strong warrior at your side,” he snarled. “Calm yourselves, all of you. This is Yellowscar’s hunt.”
“A doomed hunt then,” Dirtyhide grumbled.
Redclaw bared his teeth, and before the other wolf could respond, he grabbed him by the throat and lifted his back legs off the ground.
“I fight at his side,” he said. “You insult me in saying us doomed. Speak it again, Dirtyhide, if you are so brave. I relish the thought of your blood on my tongue.”
“Wolf must not kill wolf,” Dirtyhide managed to say, his clawed fists clutching Redclaw’s wrist as it held him.
“I would only eat one arm. You’d still live.”
Dirtyhide yipped at that. Giving him one last shake, Redclaw tossed him to the ground and snarled at the others. He towered a foot above all of them, and he pulled back and howled to the moon, letting them hear the strength of his lungs, see the corded muscles of his chest. The rest backed away, all but Yellowscar, who lowered his head and ears respectfully while staying at his side.
“Enough,” said Redclaw. “We must not nip at our own heels when food is near. To the river. The human village must starve as we starve. They must know the hunger we have lived with all our lives. No boats can arrive. As for Bonebite, he remains at the pack for I need him at the Gathering. I would not want Goldteeth to arrive without someone strong to greet him.”
“We don’t need Goldteeth to feast upon the human flesh,” said Rockeye, looking to the rest for support. He was stronger than many, his powerful muscles visible through the mange on his skin, but it was for his reflexes that Redclaw brought him. “Send Goldteeth away. Let his pack starve while we reap what we have earned.”
“I said enough!” Redclaw snarled. “You are my strongest, yet you doubt me? We do not attack to eat. We attack to live! The humans will send men to drive us back across the river, hundreds of them. With our every victory, more will arrive, until we face a sea of metal and flesh. Come then, we must have every wolf-man united together. I cannot be just pack leader. I must be leader of leaders. Humans are fearful of the future, and that is why they will never let us be. We must be smarter. We must be stronger. Goldteeth will only be the first.”
“You are strong,” Yellowscar said, still keeping his body low. “Not since the old tales have we had a leader of leaders, but you are mighty. You will be Wolf King.”
The rest howled at the title, and Redclaw felt a shiver crawl up his spine.
“Wolf King,” he said, drool swelling on his tongue. “If the moon is kind, I will see it so. But for now, the boat. Let us worry about Goldteeth and his pack later. Ears sharp, and noses open. They must not pass.”
They fell silent, the only sound that of their footfalls and the deep inhalations through their nostrils. The world was awash with colors, not just of light, but of scent. They floated like mists before him, should he let his mind focus upon the sense. When on the hunt, the mist would trail through the air, fading with each moment, falling upon the grass and leaves like dew. But his eyes were sharp, his nose strong, and he could smell what others could not, track what others could not. And in the night, hovering like smoke across the water, was the scent of humans.
“Already passed here,” Redclaw growled.
“Not long,” said Yellowscar, whose nose was stronger than his, which is why he was a scout. “The scent is heavy. Let us run. No boat along the water can match the speed of a wolf.”
“Send them our fear,” Redclaw said, taking in a deep breath as the others did likewise. As one they howled, the sound traveling for miles. He wished he were close enough to smell the human’s fear on the boat. Surely it would be delicious.
South along the river they ran. They moved without need for silence. This territory had long been theirs, and there was no creature that would dare hunt a wolf-man. The river curved, gently widening. The trees grew taller and further apart. As Redclaw ran, he kept his concentration off the scent. It was just a vague swarm of color to him, and unless he slowed down he could make no sense of it. Yellowscar, however, yipped and pointed, able to decipher meaning even when at full run.
“Very close,” he said. “But the town is close as well. Hurry.”
“It is your hunt,” Redclaw told him. “Lead on, and show no hesitation.”
They thundered along, Yellowscar leading, Redclaw following with the rest of his hunting party. The trees were a blur as they passed by. Panting heavily, Redclaw watched the moon steadily dip. Morning would arrive all too soon, along with the damned fire in the sky. He wondered how Bonebite handled himself at the Gathering. They greatly outnumbered Goldteeth’s pack, but with him and his greatest warriors gone, the other leader would grow bold, as he hoped. Still, that was for another time. The hunt was on, and he couldn’t risk distraction.
He didn’t need Yellowscar’s signal to know the boat was near, for between the trees his sharp eyes spotted the humans. There were six, sitting on a large, flat structure that floated along. Several crates were stacked atop it. Whether or not the humans wielded metal weapons, he didn’t know. They often hid them in strips of leather at their sides, and with them sitting, he could not see.
“Howl or swim?” Yellowscar asked, keeping his voice low.
“Your hunt,” Redclaw said.
Yellowscar continued his run, and faster than the river they continued south. Soon the boat was behind them, and then Yellowscar sprinted into the water. Redclaw followed, and he did his best to hide his discomfort. There were many of his brethren who loved to paddle in the water. They claimed it made them feel free, but Redclaw always felt trapped. It made him slower, his claw strikes weak and clumsy. Before his pack, though, he couldn’t dare show weakness. He remained at Yellowscar’s left, only their heads visible above the water as they paddled.
“No deaths,” Redclaw whispered. Yellowscar flattened his ears in response.
The six men were clearly on edge. It mixed with their scent, changing its color. Two rowed, and a third guided them along with a heavy pole. Three more sat in the center, and it was they that Redclaw assumed would have weapons. Yellowscar snapped his teeth to the left, then to the right. The pack split, half one way, half the other. Redclaw led the left. Only Yellowscar remained at the front, and he stopped his paddling. The boat drifted toward them, moving faster than the river.