Watch Wolf

to break my wing or what?”
    “Don’t call her ugly! You’re the ugly one, to take a dare! Great Glaux!”
    “Oh, be quiet, Faolan!” Edme snapped. “I don’t give a white splat of seagull poop what this creature calls me. Go on with your story.”
    “Sorry,” Arthur said. “Anyhow, it all happened so fast. Two of the wolves pounced on the cub, the other two rushed in, and before you knew it, the cub was being carried away. And … and …”
    “And what?” Edme asked.
    “Well,” Arthur said hesitantly, then just blurted it out. “The Fish Owl, Skylar, he was really courageous and he started to dive-bomb them. But I wasscared. I was a coward.” It all became very clear now toboth Faolan and Edme.
    “Because you were a coward and didn’t attack as your friend Skylar did, you felt you had to prove yourself. And so you took the dare to find the Ember of Hoole,” Edme said.
    The Spotted Owl remained silent.
    “That about sums it up, Edme,” Faolan replied with contempt.
    “No, not exactly,” Arthur said in a small voice.
    “What do you mean ‘not exactly'?” Edme asked.
    “The bears know about it now. There’s talk of a war between the wolves of the Beyond and the bears.”
    “No!” Faolan gasped. “It can’t be.”
    “I think he’s right, Faolan. That’s the answer to the double shifts and all the meetings in the
gaddergovern.
Arthur, when did you see the cubnapping?”
    “Two days ago. The wolves here probably just found out yesterday.”
    “It doesn’t matter — yesterday, today, there can’t be war. There just can’t be,” Faolan whispered hoarsely.
    “Why wouldn’t the
taigas
tell us?” Edme wondered aloud. Then it dawned on her. She looked at Faolan. “It’s you, Faolan.”
    “Of course it’s me,” he replied in a low voice. His eyes filled with tears. “They were trying to protect me.”
    “Why?” Arthur asked.
    “My second Milk Giver was a grizzly. Her name was Thunderheart.”
    “What?” The Spotted Owl could barely get his beak around the word.
    “Yes. She saved my life. A grizzly bear saved my life.”
    Arthur was silent for several seconds as he attempted to digest this extraordinary information. Then pulling himself up a little taller and squaring his shoulder feathers, he spoke: “I might be able to help you — just a bit.”
    “You? How? You’re a coward, remember?” Faolan snapped. Edme nosed him in his flank.
    “Be quiet, Faolan. Let him speak. How can you help us, Arthur?”
    “I know where they took the cub. Skylar and I followed them.”
    “So where did they take him?” Edme asked.
    “A box canyon with steep walls on all its sides. There’s a hidden trail through the brush down into it and …” His voice dwindled away.
    Edme lifted her single eye to Faolan and spoke. “And there’s a crazy old wolf living down there with the foaming-mouth disease. The Pit. That’s wherethey took the cub.”
    “Do I get to go, now that I’ve told you everything?” Arthur asked.
    Edme stepped up to the owl and met his gaze directly. “Not quite yet, Arthur. This is your chance to redeem yourself and prove your courage. This is not a dare, this is an order. Think of yourself as a soldier in the first skirmish of the war between the bears and the wolves.”
    “But I’m not a wolf,” he replied in a whiny voice.
    Edme gave a resounding swat to the owl’s face, smacking off a few feathers, which drifted up and then settled on the cairn. Faolan had never seen Edme display such temper. “Let me knock some sense into you, dear,” Edme said. “The owls are going to be dragged into this war. So it doesn’t matter if you’re not a bear or a wolf or an owl. The important thing is not to be an ass. You’re going to fly cover for us. Got it?”
    But first, Faolan and Edme knew they mustgo to the Fengo.

CHAPTER NINETEEN
K ILLING F EAR
    THE PROBLEM IS THE NAME,
CAGS thought in his feverish and disorderly mind.
Yes, that’s the problem.
There were two names the wolves had called this pup who did not look like a pup. Was he really a pup? Cags needed a name. He liked to call out the pup’s name, hear it bounce off the walls. It was as if the name crawled around inside the pup’s head, and the pup’s brain got all twisted up, like Cags’s. It got foamy.
    But if Old Cags didn’t have a name, he couldn’t focus. And if he couldn’t focus, his terror shrank to the size of a dried-up peaberry in the hunger moons. Old Cags fed on terror — the