**Kill smell**
Bearclaw wavered suddenly. He caught himself on Strongbow's shoulder and endured a tremor passing through his mind. For an instant he felt himself on the forest floor, hidden in thick overgrowth, wrapped in distress. He put his hand to his head.
Woodlock doubled back to him, coming along the same branch. "Bearclaw?"
Without turning more than his head, Strongbow leaned slightly toward Bearclaw. **You all right?**
Bearclaw closed his eyes. "I think s—"
**Blood hunt.**
He squeezed his palm against his eyes and pushed his way out of the invasion. He groaned with the effort—but won.
It was over.
He shook himself. With some strain he pulled his hand away from his face and forced his eyes open. "Do you hear anything strange?" he asked.
An eerie shiver went down Woodlock's spine, judging by the way his shoulders hunched slightly. "No ... do you?"
"Strongbow?"
**Nothing.** The archer still looked at him, but now his expression was different.
"You didn't send?" Bearclaw asked. This disturbed his friends. Bearclaw didn't ask things twice.
**Just told you.**
"Someone from the holt?" Woodlock hoped.
Bearclaw struck him with a reproving look and barked, "I know all of you."
Woodlock almost apologized, but frowned instead and moved a few steps down the branch, away from his chief. "We should get out of the tree. If it happens again, you might fall."
"Yes ..." Bearclaw fought to clear his mind. "Out of the tree."
They didn't have to help him down. He had recovered quite enough to drop steadily into the ferns below by himself, but they did watch him. By the time they were all standing at the base of the tree together, Woodlock was muttering again; it gave him comfort to think things out aloud, even as Strongbow found solace in his perpetual silence. "It could be a trick," the gentle elf suggested. "Maybe the humans have found out how to send and are trying to draw us out."
Bearclaw shook his head. "Those five-fingered stench piles have all the cunning of dry moss. Humans sending— that doesn't make sense."
**Who needs sense?** Strongbow argued. **We know what they're doing. It's time to respond, Bearclaw.**
"No. Not yet."
**Are you saying we're not going to fight? Not going to kill them?**
"We'll fight. But killing humans might not be like killing deer. I don't want to go in blind."
**I'd go in hacking.**
"You would. But you don't have the whole tribe to worry about, and I do."
Woodlock's mouth curled upward on one side. "Good for you," he said. He didn't care what Strongbow thought.
The archer gripped his bow tighter and brandished it threateningly before Bearclaw. **But it's the Way.**
Bearclaw struck him with a look. ' 'Maybe the Way doesn't work all the time. I have to find out why they're coming toward the holt."
**We're easy prey if we wait. They'll find the Father Tree—**
Sharp knuckles crashed across Strongbow's jawline, reeling him backward. Somehow he managed to stay on his feet and brought a trembling hand to his mouth.
"I know that, stinkhole!" Bearclaw hissed. "Think past Now for once! There's something different about this." He paced away, his body taut and twitching, bare arms strung like bowstrings. He spun on Strongbow, his words striking out in a personal attack. "Use your head for something other than a place to put your nose. We can't kill them all, no matter how well we fight. And we'll have to kill every last human once we start. If we don't, they'll come back on us like bad meat and we'll never be done with it. Don't forget how easily they can have more whelps."
**They're vulnerable at night,** Strongbow shot back. **And they're stupid. They spread themselves too thin. We can kill them now!**
**We can't!**
Strongbow had to lean forward slightly to brace against the abrupt shock of Bearclaw's sending.
The chief spun around and blasted with molten thought. **This is more than just an attack on the holt, fool!**
"We have to use more than our instincts, Strongbow," Woodlock echoed.
Strongbow lashed out instantly. His nail-hard sending made Woodlock flinch. **Stay out of this!**
Suddenly the archer was wrenched back around by a force more physical than sending could ever be. He found himself face to face with ferocity. Bearclaw's eyes speared at him, looking ultimately wolfen tonight—nothing elfin here anymore. "Leave him alone."
The two elves locked glares and did not look away.
Without blinking, Bearclaw rumbled, "I gave you something to do, Woodlock. Do it."
Woodlock knew he lacked the strength to stand between these two if they were truly determined to challenge each other. With a despondent sigh, he set his lips and melted into the forest.
Bearclaw gritted his teeth at Strongbow. "Are you challenging my authority9''
**What if I am? Who says your line must be the only chiefs of the Wolfriders? The rest of us have something to say about it too.**
"Oh? Do you? And who would be chief? You? Treestump? Maybe Rain or Woodlock."
**Or my lifemate. She's got all your experience and four times your judgment. I spit on your chief-blood.**
Bearclaw circled the archer now, prowling around him with a disgusted expression curdling his features. "You do and I'll make you lick it up. You're the one who always wants to follow the Way. Well, the Way says from parent to cub—my parent to my cub—straight back to Timmorn's blood."
**Too bad you don't have Timmorn's brain.**
Bearclaw's teeth showed as his lips quivered back in rage. Veins bulged in his arms. Too furious to speak, he sent his feelings directly to Strongbow's mind. **I should kill you for that.**
Strongbow's head snapped sideways, his gaze landing on the mossy ground beside him. **Tonight might mean the deaths of many Wolfriders. Including you.**
They leered at each other with a mutual bitterness so spiny it nearly drew blood. Finally, Bearclaw broke the spell. "Then you can howl ever my carcass."
He stalked off the way Woodlock had gone. Behind him, torchlight flickered between the trees.
He was still stalking when Woodlock popped out of the branches, breathing heavily, and gasped, "I counted twice eight of them. And there are more coming from the camp. I'm sure they outnumber us."
Bearclaw thought about it. What Strongbow said made sense* If a chief had said those things, there might never be a chance to think about it; it would already be done. But because the ideas came from a source outside himself, Bearclaw automatically resisted. Yet Strongbow's logic was good. Certainly the humans would spare nothing and no one if they found the holt, no matter what caused the anger. Sixteen or more humans ...
In his mind, Bearclaw carefully considered his Wolfriders. They could all hunt, of course, but fighting was different. Redmark was the best tracker and he loved the chase, but he usually left the actual kill to someone else, unless he was alone. Clearbrook could fight as well as Bearclaw himself, but she thought she might be with cub and he didn't want to take any chances. Amber was fair with a knife, but she had an infant even younger than Bearclaw's tiny son—the little she-cub called Nightfall. Skywise ...no. Too young for this kind of thing. Eager, but too young. One-Eye—yes. Now, there was a fighter. Steady, but willing to give in to the killer's instinct at the appropriate second. Strongbow—went without saying. The archer's lifemate, Moonshade, was always dependable, especially if she and Strongbow could fight near each other. Rain ... no. Rain never participated in the hunt, coming along with the hunting party only to ease the death-pain of an animal who had not died quickly. He would put the thrashing, agonized prey at ease, calming it so that its last moments would not be moments of terror, until the Wolfriders could dispatch it with a single thrust to the brain. Then there was Longreach, as good at amusing the tribe as he was with—