Watch Wolf

if Donaidh followed her, she would slay him. Something white moved in the thicket. Her hackles rose. Was it a
slink melf?
    She crouched into a defensive posture but shoved her ears forward. The days of submission to tyrants were over. Like a silent rebellion, the words of the
banuil caint
rumbled through her marrow.
    But it was not a tyrant who stepped into the clearing. It was Airmead the Obea. It was as if she had materialized from the very bark of the birches.
    “You!” Katria gasped.
    “Yes. You were not the only one reading those bones. But you were much braver. I left when I knew you would.”
    “But how did you know? Were you the only one who saw me leave?”
    “I didn’t see you leave. I saw when you decided to go.”
    “B-b-but … b-but …” Katria stammered. “You weren’t in the den when Donaidh and I argued.”
    “I was in the
gadderheal
when the chieftain lashed out at you. I saw your eyes as you buried your muzzle between your paws. I knew you would be leaving soon.” Airmead paused, then continued, “If it was not for the threat of this war, I might not have ever worked up the courage to go. A hundred times I promised that I would leave, but I was frightened to go alone. Don’t worry. I was careful to cover my tracks and I left many false scents.”
    It hadn’t even occurred to Katria to leave false scents; her head had been too filled with leaving. “I should have thought of that,” Katria said. “I have been careful only to urinate in streams, though.”
    “That’s good.” Airmead paused. “I think we can make it, Katria. I think we have a chance. The chieftains and the lords are all caught up in this notion of capturing a grizzly cub, setting off a war between the wolves of the Watch and the bears.” She sighed. “In my entire barren life as an Obea, I have never had to take a
malcadh
to a
tummfraw.
But I have to admit that the opposite thought did cross my mind.” She stopped and cast her eyes down toward the ground. Snow had begun to fall, even though it was the first quarter of the Moon of the Flies.
    “What’s that?” Katria asked.
    “I thought I might rescue that cub from Old Cags and perhaps stop a war.”
    “A single wolf is not going to stop a war,” Katria said as she dug her claws deeper into the ground where the snow was beginning to stick. “Dunbar MacHeath will find another way. We must get to the MacNamaras and tell them what he’s plotting. We don’t have a lot of time. It is at least a four-day journey to MacNamara territory.”
    “Yes, but it will take Dunbar at least two days to get to where the cub dwells with his mother and then back to the Pit. And remember, the prevailing wind will be against them for part of the journey on their way to snatch the cub, and it will be with us for all of ours.”
    “True, but we have to move fast. Areyou up to doing most of this journey at press-paw?”
    “I’ll try. I’m not an outflanker like you, Katria. I’ve never had to run a
byrrgis
and press in on the prey for leagues on end. And now this weather …” She hesitated. “If it snows again, it’s going to be hard. But I’ll try.”
    Airmead was right. It was going to be hard. Nearly impossible if there was another blizzard. Katria looked down. The snow was piled almost as high as the scar where her dewclaw had been.
Why are snowflakes dropping instead of flies during this moon?
Everything seemed turned around. Was there something worse than war coming?

CHAPTER FOURTEEN
T HE S HE- W INDS
    “PYGMY!” FAOLAN SHOUTED.
    “Burrowing!” Edme said.
    “Boreal!” they both blurted at once.
    “Great Gray!” Faolan leaped a bit as the elderly
taiga
Malachy held up the jump bone with the incised profile of an owl’s head.
    “Long-eared!”
    “No, Faolan,” Malachy replied.
    “Great Horned!” Edme said.
    “Well, it had to be the other if not a Long-eared,” Faolan said. “That was an easy guess.”
    “True.” Edme nodded good-naturedly.
    “It wasn’t that easy,” Malachy chided. “You forget Screech Owls have tufts as well. But now for the test,” Malachy, a brindled wolf with crooked hips, said slyly.“Edme, can you tell us the distinguishing characteristics between the so-called ears of the three species that sport them?”
    “Uh … uh, I forget.”
    Faolan cocked his head. “I think,” he began slowly, “that the Long-eared Owls’ feather tufts stick up more and are closer together.”
    “Very good, Faolan. Yes, exactly, and