Wolves of the Beyond 02 - Shadow Wolf

they’re having another gaddergnaw ? It’s been a while.”
    “Yes, and this could be my chance.” He hesitated to say that Duncan MacDuncan had told him this.
    “Your chance for what?”
    “To get out. To become a wolf of the Watch. I thought you might have some memories and some advice that could help me.”
    “You’ll need a better reason than just getting out, dearie!”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean exactly what I said. Getting out is a stupid reason. Where are you going? I don’t need to stick my snout into any pot for that advice.” She raised a paw and tapped her head. “It’s right here in the old noggin. You’ve been in my den long enough. You must leave before shewakes. It will be too painful for her if she smells her pup on you.”
    “All right,” Faolan replied. He rose up, thinking again of his first Milk Giver. He had no hope of finding Thunderheart on this earth. He would not find her until he died and made his way to that place the bears called Ursulana and the wolves called the Cave of Souls. But his own wolf mother or wolf father could still be alive.
    The Sark must have read his mind.
    She gave a low growl. “Don’t do it, Faolan. Don’t go looking for your mother. She won’t recognize you, for one thing. And then how will you feel?”
    “Oh, she’ll know me. She’ll recognize me,” he said with a steely certainty. “In her marrow, she’ll know it’s me when she sees this.” And he picked up his front foot and ground it into the dirt, once again leaving the imprint of his splayed paw with its spiral pattern.

CHAPTER TWELVE
A N A BOMINATION !
    THE WIND WAS NOT COOPERATING. It seemed to be out of sorts, as could often happen during the Moon of the First Snow. Gwynneth, Rogue smith and daughter of the late Gwyndor, had spent the better part of the night tacking against it to go north toward the Ring of Sacred Volcanoes. As was also customary during this season, the volcanoes had become active. Gwynneth could now gather “bonk” coals, the old smithy term for the coals that burned the hottest, the ones with blue centers ringed with green.
    Gwynneth had planned to get to the volcanoes early in this snow moon, ahead of the other owls from the Hoolian kingdoms to the south. She had taken a roundabout route to avoid stalling out in the cantankerous headwinds.
    An updraft of slightly warmer air came out of nowhere and allowed her a brief respite in her battle against the shifting winds. She was able to soar effortlessly while being pulled vaguely in her intended direction. It was a welcome break for her wings, but as she soared, her ears caught a thin filament of sound weaving through the winds. The sound was curious yet slightly alarming—tiny mewling whimpers. She began to cock her head this way and then that. Masked Owls were members of the Barn Owl family, known for their exceptional hearing. Because of the uneven placement of their ear slits, they were able to scoop up the smallest traces of sound. Furthermore, these owls could expand and contract their facial discs, which allowed them to focus in precisely on the source of the sound.
    The mewling had now become an agonizing shriek accompanied by a horrifying ripping. Great Glaux! A pup is being murdered! By…by…by a wolf! Gwynneth knew that of all the complicated codes and laws of these wolves, murdering a malcadh was the worst offense of all. It was an abomination!
    And Gwynneth knew the killer was a wolf. She recognized the sound of the gnashing teeth. The long front fangs were for ripping, and soon she heard the slicingsounds of the back teeth, working like blades to cut the flesh into tinier pieces. She could see nothing, for the cloud cover was thick, but she knew what was happening from the horrible noises and the panting of the murdering wolf.
    Gwynneth fell into what owls called a kill plunge. Although it was now a life plunge, a rescue plunge, if she could save the little pup and beat off the murderer. If…if…if…
    But it was too late. Just as Gwynneth broke out of the clouds, the wolf raced off the ridge. By the time Gwynneth lighted down on the table rock, the pup was dead. Gwynneth looked in horror at its body. It was a tiny little thing, a female and not really a malcadh . “Just born too soon,” Gwynneth whispered softly. The pup’s body had been ripped apart. Why didn’t the wolf smother her? Gwynneth wondered. This death was unspeakably violent. The wolf had bitten all the way though to