Watch Wolf

wolves. If a she-wolf was too busy to mind her pups, another she-wolf often stepped in.
    “I’m a good auntie because as an outflanker I had to depend on other good aunts when I was out on
byrrgis.
I appreciate what they did for my pups.” A shadow passed through Morag’s eyes and there was the dimmest pulse of green behind the milky film that covered them.
    “No one can tell stories to pups like Morag,” Brangwen continued. “She has a true gift for the old ones, the stories of the Long Ago.”
    Both Katria’s and Airmead’s tails drooped. There was rarely any storytelling among the MacHeaths. They did not value the tales of the Long Ago, when the wolves had first arrived after the Ice March. They lived only in the strife-torn depravity of their own here and now, smug in their ignorance of the past and the rich lore of the wolves of the Beyond. The MacHeaths didn’t even have a proper
skreeleen.
One of the tasks of a
skreeleen
was to read the sky fire to tell stories. The MacHeaths only had one ancient, nasty female whose sole tasks were to croakout territorial boundaries and announce what prey was in the region.
    The four wolves returned to the trail. Morag seemed to gain confidence in the company of strong she-wolves, and Brangwen noticed that her pace had picked up. Airmead trotted behind Morag, and Katria was right at her shoulder, gently guiding her just as she might have initiated a flanking action to bend a
byrrgis
on the hunt.
    “We must be nearing the camp,” Brangwen called out. “Look at this fog rolling in. We’re close to the northern sea. The Bittersea, I believe they call it.”
    Mist began threading the air and quickly they were enveloped in an immense cloud that seemed to have settled across the land. The tips of their guard hairs were soon bristling with drops of vapor, and their pace slowed.
    “How come we’re going slower?” Morag asked.
    “The fog. We can’t see much.”
    “Maybe I should lead.” Morag chuckled good-naturedly. Katria and Airmead gasped.
    “What are you gasping about?” Morag asked.
    “You made a … a …”
    “A joke?” Morag asked.
    “Yes. Is that what you call it? A joke?”
    “Yes. Great Lupus, haven’t you ever heard anyone make a joke before?”
    “No,” Katria and Airmead answered at once.
    “Not in the MacHeath clan,” Airmead clarified.
    “And certainly not about one’s self,” Katria added.
    “Well, that’s … that’s too bad,” Morag replied. She could think of nothing else to say.
    A short time later, the fog rolled out again and they caught sight of two wolves coming toward them. “Scouts!” Brangwen exclaimed. “They must be scouts from the MacNamara clan.”
    “You mean we’ve arrived?” Morag said.
    Brangwen began to howl a greeting and when the scouts drew close, the four traveling companions fell to their knees and began the submission postures.
    They were cut short as Brangwen had cut short Katria and Airmead. A large she-wolf with a creamy gray pelt that looked almost like her own private fog stepped forward.
    “Welcome. You are welcome. We have seen you coming since dawn. I must apologize for the Namara. She regretted that she was unable to greet you personally.She usually does, but I am afraid you have arrived on the eve of what might be a catastrophe.”
    “A catastrophe?” Brangwen asked.
    “Oh, dear,” whispered Morag.
    “What is the trouble?” Katria asked.
    “The bears — the bears near the Ring are rising up against the wolves.”
    “But we’ve always lived in peace with the bears, especially in the territory of the Ring. This is impossible!”Brangwen said.
    “Let’s hope,” said the other scout, a dark gray male. “Let’s hope,” he repeated.
    Katria and Airmead exchanged glances, and Katria began to speak. “We know something of this. I’m ashamed to say that we did little to stop it. It’s the MacHeaths’ doing, and it’s why we finally gained the courage to leave.” Katria paused.
    The scout shoved her ears forward. “You must come with me directly and tell what you know to the Namara. Perhaps you can help us avoid … this … this …” She was hesitant to say the word that hung unspoken in the air. “Please just follow me.”
    Morag in her blindness sensed a deeper darkness — the shadow of war.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
G RAYMALKIN
    IT WAS FAOLAN’S SECOND DOUBLE shift, and then he had been promised two nights off entirely. Something was going on at the Ring, but neither he