Lone Wolf

star predictions to the chieftains with their elaborate rituals designed to rid the gadderheals of ill omens. The Sark did not know how she came by her decidedly practical and un-wolfish bent of mind.
    She was contemplating all this as she tended one of the fires at the mouth of her cavern, preparing to mix henbane and mint to treat the scours that had afflicted a lone she-wolf. The wolf had been driven from her clan for giving birth to a malcadh just days before. She-wolves were frequently afflicted after losing their young.
    This particular she-wolf had been cast out of the MacDuff clan. She was resting in one of the chambers deep in the cavern. The Sark often provided a halfway den for the grieving mothers. She hunted for them, gave them restorative tonics that she brewed up. The whole business that accompanied the birth of a malcadh was cruel, but one of the more practical customs of the clan wolves. It kept the clan healthy and maintained good bloodlines. It was usually possible for the cast-out parents  to find new packs in other clans and new mates and produce healthy pups. This wolf would, too. The Sark would assure her of that in a few days, but it was too early now to broach the subject. The last thing this she-wolf wanted to hear about was a new pack, or a handsome recently widowed male wolf.
    The Sark caught a whiff of something cutting through the aroma of the minted henbane, and stopped stirring. She walked outside the opening of the cavern to see the four chieftains approaching. "Oh, Great Glaux! What in the name of Lupus are the old codgers up to now?"

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
    ***
    THE TRAIL OF THE SPLAYED PAW

    "YOU SAY THE PRINT WAS TRULY distinct?"
    "Indeed." The four chieftains nodded and replied in unison.
    The Sark shook her head mournfully. She had no potions, medicines, or ointments for the foaming-mouth disease. The only way to stop it was to build a large fire and drive the foaming-mouth wolf into it. Of course she would help them.
    She took her coal bucket, for which she had traded meat years before, and joined them. The Sark and the chieftains traveled together with some of their pack lords and officers, winding their way out of the Slough and onto the raised plains of the central plateau, where the chieftains had last seen the print of the splayed paw. They followed the track for the better part of the  afternoon, but the Sark was growing uneasy. The print was not as clear as she would have thought, and most perplexing, it seemed that the wolf was favoring one paw, or at least that the other three left indistinct marks that could not be read as splayed. Was it that the sequence of footfalls was off? But she got no sense that the wolf was staggering.
    It was slow going, as Duncan MacDuncan could not keep up on his arthritic legs. One corporal, a fast female, ran point.-She was accompanied by two outflankers, also very fast females, who covered a wider swath on either side. There were back runners, too, both males, who looked for evidence that the foaming-mouth wolf was going back to cover its tracks. The Sark thought this was exceedingly stupid, as a wolf with foaming mouth became mad and would not have the sense to double back.
    That was the other thing that disturbed the Sark. The foaming-mouth wolf's trail was straight, not erratic in a way that might suggest a crazed creature. But what disturbed the Sark the most was the splaying of that one paw. How could one paw be affected by the disease and not all four?
    The outflankers had just returned with the news that the wolf had headed west toward the lagoons, shallow turquoise lakes rimed in salt.
    "Good! Good!" exclaimed Angus MacAngus. "There is a defile near there that's perfect for building a fire trap. We'll send a team with you to help dig the trench." Angus MacAngus wheeled about and reared. "Laird, Mac, Brienne, you three head up the fuel collection." Then he turned to the other chieftains. "Will you honor us by appointing three mid-ranking in your clan to aid quartermaster Corporal Laird in fueling operations?"
    Sark looked on, impressed by the crisp commands, the flawless organization. She had to credit them for their remarkable ability to marry the irrational messiness of their minds with the precision required of operational thinking. They were a wonder!
    The Sark felt this might be the moment to introduce a reasonable question. She knew she would have to go through all the nonsense of those extravagant gestures of submission.