Lone Wolf

rock by the river and then in the late afternoon he would begin to swim in search of fish. But he was beginning to crave real meat. The woods along the river had grown sparser and one day he followed a trail up from the riverbank to a broad plain. It was twilight and an indigo glow began to fill the evening. Faolan rammed his ears forward. There was an odd clicking noise that he picked up on the breeze. He had heard it before with Thunderheart; he knew the sound. Caribou! The muscles in their legs snapped as they trotted along. They were moving to their calving grounds.
    The juices in his stomach seemed to surge. He could taste blood already, but there was no Thunderheart to help, no defile in which to trap a caribou. The strategy that had worked so well in the past was useless here. But he had killed a cougar. It was just a single cougar and this was an entire herd. He would have to single out the weak one and then pursue it. His mind went back to the cave -- the magnificent stream of wolves floating over the landscape, working together with great purpose. A river of scents now poured toward him, carried on the wind. He could do this even if he was alone.
    Faolan began traveling toward the scent, careful to keep downwind. There was a sea of tremulous vibrations that began to rise from the ground and grow stronger, and soon he spotted the herd breaking out from behind a bluff. They were in the open now and moving into the central part of the plain that dipped into a shallow valley. It was not a defile but still it offered advantages. He could stay slightly above the herd and downwind. It would give him a view from which he could survey the herd and pick out a weak member. He felt sleeker and faster than he had a few moons earlier, for his winter underfur had begun to shed. Swiftly, he climbed a rocky ridge and, moving along it, studied the flow of caribou. Two ravens circled above him. He sensed they were waiting for him to attack the  herd. He was annoyed. He didn't want the circling ravens to give away his location. But the herd moved along mindlessly, relentlessly, at a steady pace as inexorable as the course of a river.
    Faolan soon caught sight of an elderly cow at the edge of the herd. He could tell that she was having trouble keeping pace. This was his target. Stealthily, he made his way down the slope. There was a sudden but slight wind shift. The clicking of the caribous' tendons quickened as they picked up their pace. They smell me, Faolan thought. He watched the cow attempt to make her way to the center of the herd, but she was shoved once again to the edges. He was a good distance behind the herd, which had more than doubled its speed. The cow was running faster, too. She was perhaps not as infirm or old as Faolan thought. But he restrained himself from accelerating. Not yet, he thought. I must keep a steady pace. Act as if I am not one alone, but one of many.
    He loped along, keeping his eyes on the cow. Instinctively, he knew that in the byrrgis the females were the fastest and therefore ran in the front of the formation. But he would have to cover all positions and therefore he must carefully gauge not only the caribou's speed, but also his own energy.
    The herd had been heading up a slight incline and it  was here that the cow decided to split from them as she knew she could not keep up on a slope. She turned and picked up speed as she headed in another direction. Faolan veered to follow her. The flat of the terrain renewed the cow's energy. She was pressing on at an admirable clip, but Faolan could hear the roughness of her breathing. She could not keep this up forever.
    Or could she? he thought sometime later. He had been tracking her over a great distance for a long time. Stars had risen and slid down the other side of the black dome of the night. The moon was now on the distant horizon. And still her pace was steady. But I am not alone, he thought, and remembered again the flowing line of wolves. Each wolf had a part to play in the formation, whether they were migrating or hunting. When he had stood close to the rock wall and gazed for hours, there were moments when he had felt as if he was truly part of that flow of wolves. Now he could almost feel the presence of scores of fleet animals pressing in around him, and then other times the wolves would stretch out in a long swift stream as they silently signaled one another in this phantom byrrgis of many, of which Faolan was just one. One in all.