Sianim 02 - Wolfsbane

staff, and the howlaa turned away, bawling angrily as the sharp points scored its side. With a growl, it snapped at the staff and received another slash. Had the talons on Wolf’s staff moved, or was it merely an effect of whatever the howlaa’s gaze had done to her?
    Aralorn shook her head in an attempt to drive away thoughts and voices alike. She needed to know where the battle would move, not what Wolf’s staff was doing. It was hard to read the purpose of Wolf’s pattern of attack. He wasn’t looking for a possible fatal hit, just using his staff to poke and prod the creature in the sides. He wasn’t trying to back away to the woods, where the howlaa’s size would work against it. It was as if . . . of course, Wolf was trying to pull the howlaa away from her—just like one of the idiotic, plaguingly foolish heroes in a bard’s tale. He probably could have backed off and conjured something more useful than his pox-eaten staff if he hadn’t been worried about her.
    Wolf’s next attack should come there , and the howlaa would close from the right. Just as it had kept away pain, cold, and terror over the years, the taste of battle forced the voices into the background at last.
    As silent as Wolf himself, Aralorn edged around the battle until she was behind the howlaa. When all of its attention was on Wolf, she ran and sprang into the air, leaping on the howlaa’s back as if it were a horse and she a youngster trying to show off. She clamped her legs beneath its shoulder blades and plunged her sharp steel knives into either side of its neck, where the fat was not as thick.
    Rising on its haunches, the howlaa sang, a high, piercing death-song that the wind answered and echoed. Aralorn clung to its back as it rose, her face against the coarse, musky-smelling fur while the creature’s blood warmed her cold hands and made the hafts of her knives slick.
    The howlaa jerked again as Wolf hit it in the throat with his staff, sinking the talons deep into flesh. He shifted his grip on the staff and braced his weight against it to force the dying animal sideways.
    If not for Wolf’s quick action, the howlaa would have fallen backward on top of Aralorn. As it was, she loosed her hold on her knives, jumped off the animal, and ran out of the reach of the powerful claws, which were flailing about wildly.
    From opposite sides, she and Wolf watched the creature’s death throes. It struggled for a moment more, then lay still. Aralorn shivered and retrieved her cloak from the snow where she’d tossed it.
    “One of your relatives?” asked Wolf, cleaning the end of his staff in the snow.
    Aralorn shook her head, pulling the enveloping folds of wool around her, trying to still the shudders of cold and battle fever. “No, it’s a howlaa.”
    The fight done, the murmuring voices fought for her attention, though they were quieter than before. She knew she should do something, but she couldn’t remember what.
    Wolf finished cleaning the ends of his staff, then buried it in the snow so he could tuck his hands under his arms to warm them. He walked over to the dead animal and nudged it gently with a foot. “What is a howlaa doing so far south?”
    “Hunting,” replied Aralorn softly. She noticed that the wind was dying down.
    Wolf left off examining the dead beast. “Aralorn?”
    “It was sent to get you, I think. I ...” The wind died down to nothing, taking the voices with it. Cautiously, she relaxed.
    “Are you all right, Lady?”
    She smiled at him, trying for reassurance. “Ask me tomorrow. What about your shoulder?”
    He shook his head. “A scratch. It’ll need cleaning when we get to the keep, but it’s nothing to worry about.”
    She insisted on seeing it anyway, but he was right. She’d held on to the rush of battle until she was certain he was all right. Her worry satisfied, she relaxed.
    Taking the edge of his black velvet cloak, Wolf wiped the smudges of tree sap and howlaa blood off her face. Finishing her nose, he pulled a few sticks out of her hair and pushed it back from her eyes.
    “I don’t know why you bother,” said Aralorn. “Ten steps through the trees, and it will look just as bad.”
    Wolf’s amber eyes glittered with amusement. He made a motion toward his mask as if he were going to take it off, when his gaze passed by her, and he stopped. Aralorn turned to see the red-tailed hawk perched on the dead howlaa.
    “Where did you find a shapeshifter powerful enough that I could not tell