A low murmur started, but he held up his hand for silence.
"One thing I will change immediately, however, for in his dying moments Mantricker taught me a lesson. No longer will your chief leave the tribe to harass the humans, nor will any Wolfrider strike at them unless attacked or provoked. We will try to share our range with them, to live in peace if possible."
Growls rather than murmurs met this announcement, but Bearclaw silenced them with a snarl.
"Do you think I like this decision? This day the humans have killed your chief, but he was my father. A part of me cries for vengeance, but a greater part speaks with the heaviness of a chief. Mantricker knew the risks of his actions, and they finally caught up with him as we all knew it would one day. His last words were an admission that he was wrong, that the humans are not so different as we think. Am I then to ignore this lesson and attack the humans? Shall I provoke them because they struck back at an elf who now admits he was wrong? As your chief, I am now responsible for the entire tribe, and if there is a chance we can live at peace with the humans, it must be done!"
As the young chief supported his decision, Brightwater, the tribe's storyteller, popped another dreamberry into her mouth. Soon it would be her turn, and she had never spoken at a howl prompted by a chief's death before. Nervousness made her overindulge in the berries as she prepared to delve into her memory, and images were beginning to wash over her, overlaying the moonlit howl.
What to do about the humans? It seemed the Wolfriders' history revolved around that question. Make war against them with Two-Spear's reckless abandon? Try to avoid them as Tanner had done? Chief after chief paraded in her head, yet none had had a truly workable or enduring answer. Not Mantricker, and, she feared, not Bearclaw.
' 'Timmorn Yellow-Eyes, Rahnee the She-Wolf..."
The chief-saying had begun. What was she to say when it was over?
"... Prey-Pacer, Two-Spear ..."
What tale of the past could she summon that would not cast aspersions on their new chiefs decision? It would be totally inappropriate to say that she thought that not only Mantricker, but Bearclaw as well, was wrong ... that disaster loomed in the chosen path.
"... Huntress Skyfire, Freefoot ..."
In desperation she leaned forward and rested her head in her arms, feigning sleep. Let the tribe laugh at the storyteller who had too many dreamberries and fell asleep during a howl. Better that than admit the lessons her memory was summoning up.
Not far away, another gathering was being held. The human hunters pressed closer to the warmth of their fire and tried to pool their knowledge. How many of the forest demons were there? How were they armed? Could the hunters hold their village if attacked?
At length, one rose to address the assemblage. It was the father of the boy who had been taken that day.
"Why do we babble like frightened women?" he demanded. "We have no choice. If nothing else, today has taught us that the forest demons are evil and cannot be trusted. We have tried to live in peace with them, to appease their thieving with gifts, and they show their gratitude by taking our children.
"Now they tell us that if we go, they will leave us alone. I ask you, can we believe them? My son trusted one, and now he lies in our hut with a wound on his face. I say whether it's here or at another camp we must take a stand against these demons, so why not here? We must guard ourselves and our families, and if that means attacking first, then so be it. That is the lesson I've learned this day, as has my son. We will never forget it. Tell your sons, and your sons' sons, that they will not have to learn it as painfully as we did!"
The group rose to their feet shouting their approval and spears were shaken at the surrounding woods.
Thus it was that two groups raised their voices that night, one in howls, the other in shouts, commemorating the lessons they had learned, lessons on which they would base their futures.
Pike sat cross-legged on the rock, his lower lip stuck out as far as his unruly thatch of bangs. **I don't want to,** he sent unnecessarily.
"You agreed when I showed you where the dreamberry bushes were and when I showed you how to dry them so they wouldn't lose their flavor or their power."
"That was then, this is now."
Longreach drew his brows together, giving a hint that he hadn't always been everybody's friend; that he had, in Freefoot's day, run as wild and stubborn as any Wolfrider could imagine; that he had not been the dreamberry guardian until after Bearclaw brewed up his first batch of dreamberry wine and scared poor Brightwater out of her wits.
"Now is what I'm talking about. Now is when you learn to do something beside earing the dreamberries. I'm not going to do this forever and I've chosen you to take my place."
"What about Skywise?" The lower lip didn't stick out quite as far now.
"A dreamkeeper is like a chief and Skywise" Longreach hesitated as images of the deep-thinking young hunter played through his mind. "Skywise doesn't go where the other Wolfriders go. No one but he, himself, can follow the dreams he keeps."
"They could follow mine?" The young elf sat straight, eyes wide and eager for now.
Anyone could have followed Pike's dreams. Pikethe most ordinary of the Wolfridersa rarity among Bearclaw's tribe, as he had been born to lovemates, not lifematesRain's son outside of Recognition. His eyes he'd gotten from his mother but the restwell, they all saw a bit of themselves in Pike.
"They'll follow once you learn to lead them."
Pike gave a tug at his cheek-tuft, pulling it back from his face. The hair came untamed as soon as he nodded his head. "I can always try, I guess, for now."
"Think of it as another reason for the dreamberries," Longreach said, hiding a smile as Pike's face turned red as the berries themselves. "Now it's always best to start with a tale that you know."
The lower lip flared out for a heartbeat, then retreated. "Bearclaw, then," Pike said, grabbing a heaping handful of berries. "And ... and ... Joyleaf's favorite necklace."
"You're learning fast. Don't give anything away."
Night Hunt by Diane Carey
The beast moved nearer to the cave mouth. Even the fires crackling softly could not dissuade the tug of a stronger instinct. The smell of blood made feral nostrils flare, and the beast's eyes narrowed in anticipation. Only the sky was angrier.
But this was not the anger born from having been threatened, nor fear of any kind; rather, it was born of indignation and the boiling struggle between thought and instinct. The beast knew in her intelligent mind that death waited here, but not the natural death to which she would someday submit in a cuff of sleep. Death in this place, because of its violence, would make her fight and bring to the surface every reflex of survival. The suffering, then, would last much longer. She would feel these creatures' claws, feel her flesh rip between their teeth, and even though she knew death was coming, she would fight all the harder. Nothing like going to sleep in the coolness of her own den.
She smelled the object of her quest. Her heart thumped rapidly inside the rough, gray coat. Through the dark cave mouth she homed in on the bloodnot the scent of butchery. This was the scent of need and she meant to answer it.
She moved forward, more like a cat than her own kind, only her lower legs and shoulder blades moving. As though to scoop up the scent, her head hung low. The aroma became succulent and drove her mad. She hardly blinked at all now. Behind her, the yellow glow from the campfires ended abruptly at a line of large rocks, which kept the breezes from moving inside the den. It was here ... here, and very close.