Watch Wolf

tip their faces toward the radiant sun and her softly glowing sister, the moon, from which they gather their nourishment.
    The Litha blossoms are the deepest red and their thorns are as sharp as wolf fangs. The leaves of the Litha are succulent, with a juice strong enough to make a wolf tipsy. However, to get past the thorns to the spirited grog of the leaves is an uncomfortable task at best. Although the appearance of the roses marks the longest day of the year, it also signals the turn of the earth toward winter, for in the warm days after, the sun will slip below thehorizon a bit earlier and a sliver of daylight will disappear as the shadows of evening advance more quickly. The night the Litha appears is called the eve of Blood and Thorns and there are rowdy celebrations in all the packs of all the clans in the Beyond. None celebrate Litha Eve more exuberantly than the MacHeath clan, often with disastrous conclusions as some wolf gets killed in what was supposed to be a “friendly” wrestling match.
    As a gnaw wolf in the MacHeath chieftain’s pack, Edme had made herself scarce on Litha Eve, but now as she entered the encampment, the howls and baying that had scored the air dwindled, and she felt a silence fall in behind her. The wolves of the pack stared in utter dismay as Edme returned with her tail lifted high and her ears shoved forward. A grimace of aggression scored her face as she moved toward the
gadderheal,
the ceremonial cave of the chieftain’s pack. She heard low growling whispers as she drew near.
    “What’s she doing, going to the
gadderheal?”
    “On Litha Eve?”
    “Look at her tail and ears. She certainly learned the dominance postures quickly.”
    “Well, by my marrow, I’ll not scrape to her!”
    Edme heard the last remark and could only laugh toherself.
By tomorrow or sooner, you’ll come begging. But I’ll be gone, gone to the Ring as a free runner.
    “Free runner” was the term for a gnaw wolf who was born clanless in the wild and left to die by its mother. Free runners were permitted to compete in the
gaddergnaw,
and if they proved themselves, they could be selected for the Watch at the Ring of Sacred Volcanoes. Edme had always felt that Faolan was essentially a free runner because he had not found his way back to the MacDuncan clan until well past his first year. She fully intended to declare herself first to the MacHeath clan as a free runner and then to the Fengo. The
Slaan Leat
was a journey toward truth, a journey toward peace. Well, she had found her truth and her peace, and so had completed her task.
    As Edme drew toward the entrance of the
gadderheal,
she saw the chieftain Dunbar MacHeath staggering to his feet with the aid of one of his sublieutenants. A scar ran diagonally down his face from the edge of one eye all the way to his neck, where no fur grew. The exposed skin of the scar was puckered and raw, giving him an especially savage look. Although now, swaying unsteadily and mostly supported by his sublieutenant, the chieftain simply looked ridiculous. His muzzle was thick with his own blood, from his attempts to get at the Litha leaves. He had apparentlysucceeded, for he was quite drunk. Edme guessed that he would sober up quickly when she announced the reason for her visit.
    “What in the name of the dim world are you doing here, cursed one?” he snarled. “Did they reject you already?”
    “It’s not a question of their rejection, but mine.”
    “What’s she saying?” The chieftain turned to his lieutenant and then vomited on the ground.
    Edme’s hackles rose so high, they made her look larger than she had ever seemed. The beam of green light from her one eye grew more intense, and Dunbar MacHeath and his lieutenant averted their gazes as one might shift one’s eyes during a solar eclipse when the pinpoint needle of the sun becomes blinding.
    “Step into the
gadderheal
and call your
raghnaid,
if you please.”
    Dunbar MacHeath suddenly stood erect, buthis tail drooped in a half-submissive posture. His lieutenant went around to his hindquarters and flicked his tail as a reminder to Dunbar not to cower. Edme led the way into the
gadderheal.
    I can’t quite believe this,
she thought. It was as if the whole world had tilted on its axis. She was leadingthe chieftain into his own ceremonial cave. She was commanding him, or so it seemed, on this Litha Eve.
    Fewer than a dozen wolves in varying states of inebriation entered the
gadderheal.
They glanced first