Wolves of the Beyond 02 - Shadow Wolf

gathering, Faolan felt the stares of the other wolves. He heard murmurs of astonishment as well. “He’s too big for a gnaw wolf.” “Too well fed.” “He must be sneaking meat at kills and not waiting.” “No pack wolf would permit…” “He’s just large….”
    “Take a lesson from Heep over there,” Lord Bhreac said. “A model gnaw wolf!” Faolan had not yet met any of the other gnaw wolves. Perhaps he could learn something from Heep; the humility expected of a gnaw wolf did not come easily to him. Faolan made his way to the top of the Burn. Amid the tail wagging, bowing, and howling, he spotted a tailless yellow wolf writhing in the dirt.
    Faolan’s submission postures left something to be desired. It was as if his knees simply could not bend enough; his shoulders seemed unready to flex so that he could drop to his belly; and he hated twisting his neck to press his face into the ground.
    So this was what was considered a model gnaw wolf! Faolan felt sick. He had never seen a wolf grind himself so deeply into the ground. Heep’s muzzle had disappeared into the dusty earth, and Faolan wondered how he could even breathe. Heep’s eyes—more yellow than green—slid back into his head so that only the whites showed, but Faolan caught him glimpsing around every few seconds to see who was watching him. And all the while, Faolan noticed that the yellow wolf’s hindquarters twitched, as if he were trying to shove his tail between his legs. But he had no tail to tuck in submission, wag in happiness, or hold out rigid in a display of dominance.
    Heep wore this humility like a second pelt, and it gave Faolan a queasy feeling in his stomach. But Heep was supposed to be a model gnaw wolf, and perhaps he would tell Faolan something about the byrrgis and the hunt.
    Faolan sank to his knees near Heep. “So when do we get to join in the howling?”
    “What?” the yellow wolf rasped.
    “I said, when do we—”
    “I know what you said, gnaw wolf. I am simply astonished by the question! You know nothing, do you?”
    “It was just a question. I don’t know all the ways yet.”
    “At this rate, you never will,” muttered Heep. “Gnaw wolves do not howl at gaddergludders . They do not howl at any pack or clan rallies.”
    Faolan was tempted to ask why but felt perhaps it was better not to. He did, however, want to know about the actual byrrgis . Forget howling about it. What was the hunt like?
    “Can you tell me about the byrrgis ? I can run…” He hesitated. He would not say he could run as fast as the females, since that might be inviting trouble. Instead, he said, “I have a lot of strength. I can run long and hard.”
    Heep raised his muzzle from the dirt and gave him a withering glance. “It really won’t matter.”
    “What do you mean, it won’t matter?”
    At just that moment, Lord Claren walked by. He briefly paused in front of Heep and observed his writhings of submission, which seemed to stimulate Heep to even more frantic displays.
    “So pleased to serve in my most humble way. Let the more noble wolves, the captain and the corporalsof the byrrgis , be aided by my most humble efforts as a sweeper as I sniff the scat and urine of the prey. To accurately report on the condition of their droppings is a glory unto me if it serves the greater glory of the byrrgis .”
    Droppings! What was Heep talking about? That was their job, to sniff the droppings ? Faolan was astonished. He had thought that, even though they were gnaw wolves and not permitted the first, second, or even tenth bite of prey after it had been brought down, they would not be relegated to sniffing droppings. Like a guttering flame, the anticipation Faolan had felt now flared and extinguished.
    Heep slid his eyes toward Faolan and whispered, “That is indeed our task, gnaw wolf—to sniff the scat of the prey. No more. No running to speak of, nor are we part of the kill rush at the end. We sniff scat,” he said, turning to Lord Claren, who nodded approvingly at Heep’s explanation.
    “And I would not deem you too proud, Lord Claren,” Heep continued, “if you chose to avoid me for some time after this most magnificent hunt because of the stench I shall have acquired in the performance of my task.” He paused in this fawning litany of self-abasement and added a small, delicate writhe. “Know that I am filled with humility at the mere chance of serving thus, and I shall wear the stench as a badge of my most humble