Watch Wolf

inlet, known as the bight, where a narrow strip of land hooked out and into the choppy water.
    “Broken Talon Point,” Katria said. “We could save half a day at least if we swam this inlet. And the current would be with us, along with the wind.” She turned her head slowly toward Airmead. “Do you swim?”
    “What wolf doesn’t?” She chuckled.
    “It’ll be cold.”
    “We have fur.”
    “Our fur might freeze when we get out and the wind hits us. Ice will add weight.”
    “We’ll shake the water off,” Airmead said. She was already striding into the water.
    “It won’t be easy. I just want to warn you,” Katria called after her.
    “Living with the MacHeaths isn’t easy either. I’d rather die at the bottom of the Sea of Hoolemere than in the clan of the MacHeaths.”
    That did it — Katria leaped into the churning waters of the inlet. The current was with them and it was strong. It almost seemed as if they couldn’t paddle their legs fast enough to keep up with it. The hardest part was holding their heads above the slapping waves. The fur on their face was soon rimed with salt. When they were about two-thirds of the way across, they began to feel themselves being pulled south.
    “What’s happening?” Katria said.
    “There must be an eddy swirling out from the shore.”
    The eddy was dragging them fast now. They were swimming as hard as they could, for they were in real danger of being swept past the point and straight out to sea.
    “Swim! Swim!” Katria yelled. She was younger and much stronger than Airmead. She could see Airmead’s head drooping and the water dashing in her face.
    Katria, too, was having to fight hard. Shedid not have breath to spare, but she shouted out, “Airmead! Think of the MacHeaths and then think of life. Life, Airmead!” The words of the
banuil caints
flowed through her mind, words from bones that she had long forgotten but now seemed inscribed in her marrow.
You are good. You are wise. You have strengths you have never known.
And she shouted out all of the words she had found on those buried bones, until the salt air seemed to sing with them. She felt a surge within herself and she saw that Airmead was lifting her head higher. It was as if there were three powers propelling them toward the shore of Broken Talon Point — the wind, the current, and the secret language of Hordweard.
    When Katria and Airmead staggered out of the water, they knew they had only a short distance to travel, another day at the most. They had cut a four-day journey into one that would barely take them three. Although they should have been exhausted, they found themselves oddly invigorated, and pressed on at almost attack speed. Their stops for rest were brief. Their food was restricted to prey nearby, small creatures that barely satisfied their hunger but were easy to catch. They had set out from the MacHeaths with a surge of energy that came with theirsense of release, of deliverance from constant fear and savagery. But like the stench from a foul place, the brutality of the MacHeath plan to snatch a cub and take him to the Pit clung to them every step they took. Could they get to the MacNamaras in time? Could a cub be saved and a war averted? These questions drove them to a relentless pace.
    When they finally slowed, Airmead noticed something. “What a strange track,” she said, looking up at Katria.
    “How so?” Katria came over to where Airmead was standing. Katria lowered her muzzle to the prints that were blurred in the mud. The snow had ceased, the sun had come out and melted any remains of it, but the air was colder. That made sense, for they were far north, as far to the northeast as they had ever been. The previous day, they’d crossed the Broken Talon Peninsula, and by nightfall at the latest they would be with the MacNamara pack. By now, they were at least a hundred leagues from MacHeath territory. With each league, they had felt freer and a bit safer, for twice it had snowed and covered their tracks. They were both thankful for this strange weather, so peculiar to the summer moons. But then ahead of them, they had caught sight of paw prints.
    “It’s an outflanker’s print!” Katria said.
    “An outflanker’s!”
    “Absolutely.”
    Airmead would not question her word because Katria herself had long served as an outflanker for the MacHeaths, first in her natal pack and then in the pack of the chieftain when she had joined with Donaidh.
    “But she …” Katria