Wolves of the Beyond 02 - Shadow Wolf

doing? the Whistler thought.
    There was a silver streak, like a low-flying comet in the twilight.
    It took the Whistler a moment to figure out that the streak was Faolan hurling through the air. There was a large smack and an expulsion of breath, followed by a high whinnying screech. Faolan was straddling the shoulders of the buck, who reared into the air. The buck took off like a bolt, but Faolan clung, with the Whistler following.
    It was absolutely the strangest thing the Whistler had ever seen. He had been there when Faolan vaulted over the wall of fire set up to trap him. The Whistler knew how the descriptions were soon exaggerated, and it was not long before Faolan was said to have jumped for the sun. But there was no exaggeration needed for what the Whistler was witnessing here. Faolan was actually riding a buck lichen eater, blood flying in their wake.
    The blood was the buck’s. Faolan had sunk his long fangs into the buck’s neck and pierced the life-giving artery. His claws were embedded so deeply in one shoulder that the buck’s muscles were torn. The lichen eaterbegan to stumble, then soon crumpled to the ground. The buck’s stomach was heaving, and his chest worked to draw every breath. The Whistler came up, and both he and Faolan sank to their knees, laying their heads close to the dying buck’s and peering into his eyes, searching for that last guttering of light. The death ritual of lochinvyrr was not code, nor law engraved on any bone. It was an urge that flowed stronger than hunger through a wolf, a need to let the dying animal know that the life it gave was valued.
    For several seconds, Faolan and the Whistler were silent, their thoughts focused on the beauty of this animal’s grace and spirit. You are worthy, your life is worthy, your meat will sustain us. There was a moment just before the last beat of the animal’s heart when a light flickered deep in its eyes, as if an agreement had come to pass. A second later, the buck died.
     
    Thin, frayed clouds floated low over the darkening horizon like cobwebs clinging to the day. Faolan and the Whistler ate for a long time, until the moon began to rise in the eastern sky, and then, with heavy bellies, they turned toward the Pack of the Blue Rock.
    Faolan was supposed to follow behind the Whistler, but they soon fell into a companionable trot shoulder to shoulder. It seemed natural to Faolan, and he had hardly been aware of it until the Whistler spoke.
    “I was there when you jumped the wall of fire.” The words came like a wind rising up from the depths of a deep canyon. “I was one of the wolves who chased you there. And now you are the one who has given me my first decent food in weeks.” He paused. “Thank you.”
    There was a long silence. This was the first wolf who had admitted to being a part of the byrrgis that had tried to drive Faolan to his death when they thought he had the foaming-mouth disease. He didn’t think that any of them had felt guilty about mistaking him for a foaming-mouth wolf. What had disturbed them was that Faolan had not died. Instead, he had jumped the wall of fire meant to catch him, jumping for the sun and challenging the order of the Great Chain. This was considered a blasphemous act, not to be spoken of again but consigned to the silence of a carved bone. To talk about it casually, or “off the bone” as the Whistler was doing, was not acceptable.
    “You’d better not talk about it,” Faolan said.
    The Whistler shrugged and then, with a strangechuckle that sounded like a rattling wind, said, “I don’t exactly speak, now, do I? Would you consider this a voice?”
    Well, Faolan thought, they are words, even if they sound odd . “Can I ask you about the gaddergnaw ?”
    “I know very little. There hasn’t been one since I’ve been with the Blue Rock Pack.” The Whistler paused. “However, they do say that during the competition, they treat the gnaw wolves with great respect. No cuffing, no muzzle bites. None of that nonsense.”
    “And after the gaddergnaw ?”
    “Well, I’m afraid, for all but the one wolf selected, it’s life as usual.”
    Life as usual! These were bitter, bitter words. Faolan simply had to be selected, and yet he already felt far behind.
    “Have you started the practice yet?”
    “Oh, yes, one of the gadderlords , the wolves who run the competition, came and prepared me for the type of bones we shall be asked to carve.”
    “What type is that?”
    “The usual. More