Wolves of the Beyond 02 - Shadow Wolf

your story bone and the one carved by Faolan have the same nick. Now, how could that be possible? For your story bone is a rib of a moose never touched by Faolan. But all the bones that Faolan brought have this same nicked tooth mark, if one examines them carefully.” The Sark looked about, her whirling eye picking up a bit of speed in its spin as she continued to speak. “‘Carnassial’ is a fancy word for those back teeth of ours that are so efficient in slashing and shearing.”
    Faolan had begun to feel his marrow tingle and his heart race. Where was the Sark going with this?
    “Almost, one could say, your trademark, right, Heep? Interesting!” The Sark paused again. “And I am sure, Heep, that you thought your biggest problem was not your teeth but your tail—or lack thereof.”
    Heep began to tremble.
    The Sark wheeled around and faced the more than three dozen wolves packed into the gadderheal . “I have in my possession a tiny bone from the malcadh slain on the ridge. I would beg the indulgence of the raghnaid to please allow me to submit this bone for their scrutiny and to notice the nicked carnassial. There is a flurry of marks, so I ask that you look carefully.” The Sark waited as the murmurs from the wolves in front of her died down.When she was sure all eyes were on her, she flashed a Sarkish grin. “But aside from all this, I tell you that the gnaw wolf Faolan visited me a short time after he had passed the tummfraw where the malcadh had been abandoned. He came with the scent of a live pup on him. I saw not a trace of the malcadh ’s blood. That fact and these bones prove beyond a reasonable doubt that—”
    “What? What?” Heep leaped up.
    “Hold him!” the chieftain ordered.
    A gust swirled through the gadderheal as Gwynneth flew down from the shadows in which she had buried herself. “I was a witness to this crime. I heard the screams as I was flying overhead. There was a cloud cover, but I heard the breathing of a wolf tearing apart the pup on the tummfraw .”
    “But you didn’t see anything! You didn’t know it was me! It could have been any wolf!” Heep shrieked.
    “Not any wolf. I heard the clicks of a fractured tooth,” Gwynneth replied. “I thought nothing of it at the time. My mind was filled with the horror of the murder. But I heard that click.”
    “And so did we!” Dearlea and Mhairie stepped forward.
    “You?” Heep gasped. “Where were you?”
    “At your gnaw circle four days ago,” Mhairie said. “Faolan told us how the clicking of your gnawing teeth annoyed him during the byrrgis , how you could make this sound even when you weren’t gnawing. He said it was as bad as mosquitoes buzzing during the moons of the flies.”
    “And,” continued Dearlea, “he said you did this on purpose during the byrrgis and that was why he stumbled and then missed his cue in the kill rush.”
    Faolan could not believe what was happening. His eyes filled, and everything before him turned wavy in a scrim of tears. His ruff quivered as his hackles rose and he felt his tail actually begin to wag. The very motion was strange and wonderful at the same time. He had friends, friends who were standing up for him, coming forward to offer the truth!
    “But I would never do anything like this. Never!” Heep protested.
    “Yes, you would,” said the Sark. “There was a tangle of scents at the site of the murder, some more pronounced than others. They were scrambled, and it took me a while to decipher the one of the murderer, for it was mingled with that of the malcadh . You see, that brave little malcadh had fought, and as weak as she was, she drew blood, a tiny scratch but blood nonetheless. The blood of themurderer!” The Sark tipped her head toward Heep and inhaled deeply. “I’ve found the scent.”
    “The scent…scent…the Sark…a scent.” Like a hissing spark from a coal, the words “Sark” and “scent” spun through the cave.
    “And the scent I found was—”
    As if a flame had leaped from the fire pit, a streak of yellow smeared across the dark shadows of the gadderheal .
    “He’s gone!” someone cried out.
    “After him. Form a byrrgis !”
    Oh, no , Faolan thought. Let him go. Let us be done with him . For Faolan did not want to hunt Heep, nor did he want to be part of the tearing. He wanted to be rid of Heep, but he wanted no part in his death.
    Indeed, hours later, Faolan was relieved when the byrrgis returned that evening to report that they had