The eastern side of Aelioanei was much different from the west. The trees here were larger and their leaves colored differently by the coming winter, the indigos and blues of the western forests replaced by oranges and reds. Slate moved with wonder through his new environment, the thick growth around him alive with grunts and calls of wild beasts and birds. The cacophony was quite unlike anything he had heard before, and disorienting at first. Eventually, Slate began to recognize the musical patterns in the different animal calls, how they all answered each other and set countless counter-melodies and new rhythms into motion as the song progressed. Taking every opportunity to relish the wonderland, smelling every new flower and inspecting every new leaf he came upon, Slate made his way through winding miles of what he called the Orange Forest.
He came around a bend to hear an awful growling noise, something sounding both terrifying and pathetic at the same time. Slate left the trail to seek out the source of the noise, and found it coming from a hulking snarlingwulf. The shaggy beast was twisting and turning where it had gotten caught in a tangled tree root, whimpering and roaring in impotent rage. Slate’s first instinct was to leave the beast where it was; he was relieved the creature was not free to stalk him on the trail. But as he went to leave, the animal let out such a pitiful moan that Slate couldn’t help but feel sorry for it. The poor thing was trapped, as trapped as Slate had been in Alleste. Slate couldn’t leave it to suffer. He wanted to try and help it free, but didn’t know how to begin.
As Slate approached the animal, it gnashed its teeth and pulled its ears down to its head in a show of furious anger.
“I’m only trying to help you,” Slate said.
The animal snapped its jaws and tried to lunge at Slate, but couldn’t. It fell upon itself in a great bluster.
“Do you want me to help or not?” Slate asked the beast.
Less angry now, the snarlingwulf rolled a growl deep in its throat and didn’t move when Slate came closer to examine how badly it was caught. The tough nadderwood root had split the animal’s heel, and the wound had been exacerbated by the animal’s writhing.
“You’ve made quite a mess of yourself,” Slate said.
The snarlingwulf grunted.
“Now, I’m going to try to get your leg free, okay? But you can’t attack me when I do, alright?”
The animal turned its head, as if agreeing to no such terms.
Slate found a tough piece of nadderwood lying nearby and stuck it into the root where the snarlingwulf was caught, then began to rock it slowly back and forth. He slipped as he was doing so, knocking against the animal’s wound and causing it to shriek in pain. But it didn’t lunge at Slate. It stayed patiently still while Slate worked to free it.
Putting all his weight on the brace, the root finally broke and the snarlingwulf pulled its leg free. It ran a few feet from where Slate had fallen from the force of the root breaking, licked its wound, and then paused for a moment, staring Slate straight in the eye, before it limped quickly away.
“You’re welcome!” Slate shouted after the snarlingwulf.
He continued on toward Aislin, feeling rather proud and brave. The sun was nearly set now, and the woods started to flicker with tiny blue fireflies. Slate was marveling at the tiny bursts of light when, without warning, a figure in a green cowl dropped down with a loud smack onto the trail from an overhanging branch. The figure rose up and raised an arrow-primed bow at Slate's chest.
“Your pack or your life,” a voice from under the cowl threatened.
Slate was startled, but not shaken. In one swift movement, he used his left hand to knock the arrow pointed at him away, then ducked and swung his leg out, which managed to trip the stranger, but not bring him down.
At this show of bravery, three more figures rose out of the surrounding brush. Two of them had their own arrows drawn. The third was surely the biggest person Slate had ever seen, and carried a massive club in his left hand. Slate knew immediately that he was outmatched.
“I’m sorry! Please don't hurt to me!” he managed to blurt out, putting his hands up and slinking back from the figure in the cowl.
“Ha ha ha!” the man laughed. “A big show and now he’s scared, is he? I ask again, your pack, or your life? It is not threat, it’s a choice.”
One of the other men added, “You should choose, now.”
Slate began to sweat. He stuttered, unable to form a coherent response as the three other hijackers surrounded him. The huge one batted Slate to the ground with a lazy swipe of his hand and then pinned him to the ground with his massive boot.
“What’s the matter, little one?” one of the men taunted. “Are you…”
He couldn’t get his last word out, because the wounded snarlingwulf Slate had rescued came flying out of the woods in an explosion of sticks and grass. The animal landed on the back of the hulking brute of the group, freeing Slate. The snarlingwulf sank its huge teeth into the back of the hijacker, who howled and wailed and thrashed as his accomplices took to the woods. When the snarlingwulf had sufficiently shredded the big brute’s back, he leapt off to capture the fleeing leader of the criminals in his jaws. With a snap-bite and the twist of his neck, the man in the green cowl was thrown into a tree. He hit it with a loud crack and then slid down the trunk, unconscious.
The animal then took to Slate’s side, barking and howling at the other men who had dropped their things and were fleeing into the woods. Slate wasn’t sure if he was going to be next, and so he stood, petrified with fear, waiting for what the creature was going to do next.
When it became apparent that the creature wasn’t going to tear into Slate, the young man picked up his things.
“Thank you very much,” he said to the panting animal, then started to continue warily down the trail, turning around every few steps. What became quickly apparent was that the snarlingwulf was following him.
“You’re not going to eat me, are you?” Slate asked the animal. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any food to give you.”
The snarlingwulf came closer and closer to Slate, who stood his ground as best he could while trying to tremble as little as possible. The animal came within two feet of Slate, towering over him as he did. Slate was just about to break into a panicked run when the wulf stuck out his mangy snout and gave Slate a wash with his giant tongue.
Slate laughed and wiped the saliva from his face. “Is that all you wanted to do?” he asked. When the animal licked him again, Slate gave him the best pet he could, the creature being so much larger than he. “Thanks again, friend,” Slate said, then turned to walk away without any fear that the animal might do him harm.
But as Slate kept walking, the animal kept following.
“I already told you, I don’t have any food,” Slate said.
This did nothing to dissuade the animal.
“And I have no idea where I’m going, either,” Slate said.
The wulf didn’t seem to mind.
“Now, if you’re going to keep following me, I’m going to have to give you a name, you know that, right?”
The animal was walking closer to Slate now, more at his side than behind.
“You’re just like Pilotte, from the Legend, you know that?” Slate said.
This provoked something like a smile from the beast.
“Well that must be your name, then,” Slate said. “Pilotte. You going to come with me to Aislin, Pilotte?”
The animal trotted along as well as it could on its wounded leg.
“Well that’s just fine. I needed a travelling partner,” said Slate. “We’ll get something to eat real soon, okay?”
With his new friend, Slate felt much less scared. He didn’t know how long the animal would stay at his side, but he was simply grateful for him to be there, however long it may have turned out to be.
That night, Slate slept curled up in Pilotte’s fur, the deepest sleep he had found in months. Rising and falling with the animal’s breaths, he felt for the first time since
leaving home optimistic about what the future might bring.
Chapter 4