Sorceress of Darshiva

the others continued along the road, and Belgarath and Garion ranged ahead as wolves again, searching this time not so much for trouble as for fresh water. Their sharp noses easily detected the stale reek of long-standing pools, and they passed them without slowing.
    It was in a blasted forest of long-dead trees that Garion encountered another wolf. She was gaunt and bedraggled, and she limped painfully on her left front paw. She looked at him warily, baring her teeth in warning. He sat down on his haunches to show his peaceable intent.
    "What is it you do here?" she asked him in the language of wolves.
    "I am going from one place to another place," he replied politely. "I have no intention to hunt in the place which is yours. I seek only clean water to drink."
    "Clean water comes from the ground on the other side of that high place." She glanced toward a hill deeper in the forest. "Drink your fill."
    "I have others with me as well" he told her.
    "Your pack?" She came cautiously closer to him and sniffed. "You have the scent of the man-things about you," she accused.
    "Some of those in my pack are man-things," he admitted. "Where is your pack?"
    "Gone," she told him. "When there were no longer creatures to hunt in this place, they went into the mountains.'‘ She licked at her injured foot. "I could not follow."
    ‘'Where is your mate?"
    "He no longer runs or hunts. I visit his bones sometimes." She said it with such simple dignity mat a lump caught in Garion's throat.
    "How do you hunt with that hurt in your paw?"
    "I lie in wait for unwary things. All are very small. I have not eaten my fill for many seasons."
    "Grandfather," Garion sent his thought out. "I need you."
    "Trouble?" the old man's thought came back.
    "Not that kind. Oh, I found water, by the way, but don't come in here running. You'll frighten her."
    "Her?"
    "You'll understand when you get here."
    "To whom were you speaking?" she asked.
    "You heard?" He was startled.
    "No, but your manner was that of one who was speaking."
    "We can talk of that after some time has passed. My pack-leader is coming to this place. He must make the decisions."
    "That is only proper." She lay down on her belly and continued to lick at her paw. "How did you come to be hurt?"
    "The man-things conceal things beneath the leaves. I stepped on one of those things, and it bit my paw. Its jaws were very strong."
    Belgarath came trotting through the dead forest. He stopped and dropped to his haunches, his tongue lolling out. The she-wolf laid her muzzle submissively on the ground in a gesture of respect.
    "What's the problem?" Belgarath's thought came to Garion.
    "She caught her foot in a trap. Her pack left her behind, and her mate died. She's crippled and starving."
    "It happens sometimes."
    "I'm not going to leave her behind to die."
    Belgarath gave him a long, steady look. "No," he replied. "I don't imagine you would—and I'd think less of you if you did." He approached the she-wolf. "How is it with you, little sister?" he asked in the language of wolves, sniffing at her.
    "Not well, revered leader," she sighed. "I will not hunt much longer, I think."
    "You will join my pack, and we will see to your hurt. We will bring you such meat as you require. Where are your young? I can smell them on your fur.''
    Garion gave a startled little whine.
    "There is but one remaining," the she-wolf replied, "and he is very weak."
    "Take us to him. We will make him strong again."
    "As you decide, revered leader," she said with automatic obedience.
    "Pol," Belgarath sent out his thought. "Come here. Take your mother's form." The note of command in his voice was incisive and far more wolflike than human.
    There was a startled silence. "Yes, father," Polgara replied. When she arrived a few moments later, Garion recognized her from the characteristic white streak above her left brow. "What is it, father?" she asked.
    "Our little sister here is hurt," he replied. "It's her left front paw. Can you fix it?"
    She approached the she-wolf and sniffed at the paw. "It's ulcerated," she said with her thought. "Nothing seems to be broken. Several days with a poultice ought to do it."
    "Fix it, then. She also has a puppy. We'll need to find him as well."
    She looked at him, a question in her golden eyes.
    "She and her puppy are joining our pack. They'll be going with us." Then he sent his thought to her. "It's Garion's idea, actually. He refuses to leave her behind."
    "It's very noble, but is it