***
It was midday when Tir emerged from Palva’s hollow, his head still spinning. Tir looked around, wondering what he was to do with the rest of the day. The pack appeared to be in a state of constant business, like a hive; wolves milled about the redoubt in groups of two or three, reporting to Captain Leron and Simetra. Tir searched the crowd for a friendly face, but most of them paid him no attention as they swept past. Hesitant, he turned and was about to escape into his makeshift den for a nap when a small, lonely figure caught his eye.
Seilo was sitting in the shadow of a large boulder, watching him with his round eyes. With a start, Tir remembered what Palva had told him a month ago. Maybe, there was something Tir could do to help.
He approached Seilo slowly, so as not to frighten the pup. Seilo trembled, but did not run away. Encouraged, Tir padded up to the boulder and sat down beside him.
“Hello, Seilo,” he said, trying to sound cheerful. “How are you today?”
Seilo did not answer. The tawny pup seemed to be frozen, his brown eyes wide with fear and his paws trembling.
“I’m well,” Tir went on, acting as though Seilo had answered him. “So, then, how do you like your new territory?”
No reply.
Tir sighed, knowing that this would be more difficult than he had thought.
“Listen to me, Seilo,” he said. “I’m sorry if I frightened you before. I was just excited about something. I lost my senses. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise. I only wish to ask you a question, yes? I only—”
“I know you,” Seilo cut in, turning his eyes on Tir. His voice was a tiny, hesitant squeak of a voice, but his words were clear. “I know you. You’re the burnt one, the one Palva wanted me to take care of. You’re…you’re from somewhere else.”
“I am,” Tir said, surprised that Seilo had spoken to him. “Do you know where I am from?”
“A dream,” Seilo said flatly. He had turned away again, and he was trembling. “I think I remember your face from somewhere else—somewhere long ago—but it isn’t possible. I have many dreams. I’ve seen many faces that don’t exist.”
“Maybe they do.”
“They don’t.”
His voice fell hard, stubborn, and Tir was taken aback. He knew there could be no changing the pup’s mind, no telling him that the faces he thought he had dreamed were faces that truly existed. That once existed for more than one.
“Well, never mind that,” Tir said after a moment’s hesitation. Seilo was not looking at him. “I still want to…I still need to ask you something.”
Seilo said nothing, and his sandy shoulders began to tremble again. After several beats of silence, he gave a soft sniff and Tir, considering this a sufficient answer, went on.
“So,” Tir said, unsure of where to begin. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten the pup away. “So, er, what is your mother’s name, Seilo?”
Again, it was a while before Seilo said anything, and Tir was beginning to think that the pup was not going to answer his questions. But, after a solid minute of silence—
“Don’t have one,” he muttered.
“Of course you do!” Tir said, trying to sound encouraging. “Everyone has a mother, Seilo.”
“I don’t.”
Scared though Seilo was, his voice had a stubborn edge to it. The pup would not be swayed. Tir sighed again, deciding to take a different approach.
“Well, all right then, perhaps you don’t,” he said. “But do you remember anyone by the name of Arwena?”
Seilo stared, baffled. He shook his head.
“Misari?” Tir pressed. “Do you remember the name Misari?”
Seilo again shook his head.
Tir proceeded to list the name of every wolf in his old pack, but Seilo did not know any of them. The little pup was trembling more violently still, his eyes going vacant and glassy as he shook his head faster and faster. Dismayed and frustrated, Tir knew that Palva had been right—Seilo remembered nothing at all. The pup would know only voices, faces—things that Tir could not show to him. He was just about to give it up for lost when a new idea came to him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to sound comforting. Seilo had risen to his paws, and he seemed to be on the verge of running off. “I’m sorry, Seilo. I was only wondering.”
Seilo said nothing, but continued to shake his head.
“Just one last thing,” Tir said, careful not to scare him. “One more little question. Do you remember where you were when the hawk caught you?”
Seilo’s ears pricked, and he looked up at Tir. His eyes were glazed with fright.
“What’s a hawk?” he asked, his voice trembling.
“A hawk is a bird. A big bird that flies in circles—”
Seilo gave a gasp of horror. Tir reached out with his tail in an attempt to comfort him, but Seilo yelped and dashed away, scrabbling over the boulder as fast as he could and disappearing into the shade of the Hunters’ dens.
Tir groaned with frustration and shoved his nose into his paws. He felt pity for poor Seilo, but a part of him was very irritated with the fearful little pup. Seilo was all that was left of his old pack, Seilo was all that remained of his past—only the pup knew none of it.
“Frightening pups?”
A jeering voice echoed to him from across the redoubt main. Startled, Tir glanced up from his paws to see Sirle and Xelind padding towards him—Sirle smirking, Xelind cold and stony-faced.
“Oh, no,” Xelind said, in reply to Sirle. “He was asking the pup for some fighting tips. Always wise to consult a superior, isn’t it, outsider?”
Sirle laughed, and Tir ducked his head, burning with embarrassment. The two wolves padded up to him, each taking a seat on either side of him. Sirle nudged him with his shoulder, still laughing to himself.
“What’s the matter, outsider?” he said. “Don’t have anything to say?”
Tir wished he had something to say, but what? He didn’t know either Sirle or Xelind well enough to insult them in return, something they obviously knew. He watched the shadow into which Seilo had just escaped, wishing he was not among strangers.
“I simply have not been able to stop thinking about your impressive performance on your Sentinel assessment,” said Xelind, his voice dead and flat as his eyes. “It is true; you sent the Captain home with his tail between his legs.”
“Oh, yes.” Sirle gave a sickening giggle. “He was a fearsome enemy. Nevertheless, it seems that the poor outsider shall be washing grass stains out of his pelt for weeks.”
He collapsed into fits of laughter over his own comment, and Xelind gave a thin, artificial smile. Tir glowered at them from between his paws, his face hot beneath his fur.
“I don’t have any grass stains,” he said through clenched teeth. “And I don’t have any fleas, either.”
Sirle stopped laughing. “You trying to suggest something, outsider?” he hissed, shoving his face into Tir’s.
“Yes,” Tir said, trying frantically to come up with some sort of retort. “Yes, I was, thank you for noticing.”
“Tell me, outsider,” Xelind said, cutting off Sirle’s hissing reply. “Tell me, for I must know; were you raised by rabbits?”
“I was wondering something also,” Tir spat, rising. “You tell me, Sirle; is your pelt always that dull color? Or is that all from the fleas?”
Sirle’s derisive peal of laughter at Xelind’s comment roughened into a snarl. “Was that a challenge?”
“Oh, yes,” Tir went on, trying to sound unconcerned. “Yes, definitely the fleas. You really should do something about them, you know; they’re making you awfully bad-tempered. Maybe you should go for a swim in the lake—”
CRACK.
Blue stars erupted before Tir’s vision as Sirle cuffed him around the head. He took a shaky step back, his head spinning. He could hear Xelind’s soft laughter and Sirle growling something unintelligible before he, too, joined in Xelind’s amusement. Tir fought to keep his
feet steady and tried to clear his vision. The sharp pain from Sirle’s attack was flashing red and white inside his head, but even more hurt was his pride. He wished they would stop laughing; he could feel other wolves in the pack beginning to stare.
“Stuff it, you spiteful little weasels!” someone shouted. “Don’t you have anything better to do?”
Tir blinked away the haze over his vision to see Nerasa striding towards them, livid yellow eyes flashing. She marched up to Sirle and gave him a good, hard shove, almost knocking him over.
“Go on, then,” she said. “I can’t say I’m surprised. Everyone knows you’d never dare pick a fight with anyone so long as it was two to one in your favor.”
Sirle grinned at her, displaying his tiny, sharp teeth.
“Oh, no, no, we wasn’t starting any fights,” he said silkily. “It was him who wanted things violent; and here we was only coming for a chat.”
“Shut up,” Nerasa said. “I know you too well, both of you. Well, now things are more even, aren’t they? Two on two. How about it, still want to fight?”
Sirle shifted. “Oh, come now, Nerasa, you know I don’t want to fight with you. We’re too good of friends—”
“I’m no more friends with you than I’m friends with this boulder, you flea-bitten stoat.”
Sirle glared at her.
“I don’t have any fleas,” he muttered.
“Go on, scatter,” Nerasa said. “You don’t exactly have time to sit around and chat, do you, chief Sentinel? Doesn’t Alpha think you’re out on a patrol right now?”
Mumbling and shooting glances back at Tir, Xelind and Sirle slunk away. Nerasa glared after them for a while, and then looked down at Tir.
“Never can trust them, those two,” she said. “They’re Captain’s shadows. He tells them what to do, and they tell him anything they feel is important enough—I’ve already told you about Xelind, haven’t I? Always poking around for him, both of them are. Nasty little weasels.”
“Thanks for that,” Tir said, looking at the ground.
“No problem. I’m always ready for an excuse to shout at them a bit. They’re not very well liked, you can see why. You’d think Sirle would get more respect, as chief Sentinel, but I don’t give a huff what his position is. Dirt is dirt.”
“But can’t he get you in trouble?” Tir couldn’t imagine what would happen to the wolf who dared yell at Simetra the way Nerasa had just done to Sirle. He had forgotten that Sirle was the chief Sentinel.
Nerasa snorted. “I should, but I don’t. No one respects him, really. It’s hard to respect someone who grovels to Captain the way he does. And anyway, Palva says he likes me.”
She gave a loud sigh, and sat down to scratch a spot on her left ear. Tir watched her for a few moments, thinking to himself and shaking his head, trying to rid himself of the painful buzzing in his ears that was still left from Sirle’s attack. He still needed to talk to someone about Captain Leron, but at the moment, he was feeling sick. The last thing he wanted now was to rehash the horror from this morning’s assessment. Perhaps another time, when he was in a calmer mood.
“Hello, Nerasa!” said a bright voice from nearby. Both Tir and Nerasa raised their heads.
“Oh,” Nerasa said. “Hello, Yielsa. Anything wrong?”
Tir remembered Yielsa—the she-wolf with the golden pelt he had seen yesterday.
“No, only coming to see Tir about tomorrow’s Hunting assessment.” She looked him over. “This is Tir, right?”
“Yes,” Tir said, swallowing. “Yes, I’m me—no, that’s me. I’m Tir.”
Yielsa was a very pretty she-wolf with the brightest fur Tir had ever seen—an almost glowing, golden-tawny streaked with faint brown. Her pelt was long and silky, a small thatch of fur half-covering her eyes, which were a brilliant yellow-green. They sparkled with a friendly inquisitiveness and had a misty sort of glint that gave her the appearance of one who thought a great deal before saying something.
Tir realized that he must have been gaping, because Nerasa snickered.
“I told Yielsa about your run-in with the white renegade,” she said slyly. “She was awfully impressed.”
“Was it scary?” Yielsa said.
“A—a bit, yes,” Tir muttered, looking at the ground. “I suppose you could call it that…”
“You must have been brave to get out of there in one piece.”
“I…well, but—I suppose…”
He shuffled his paws and shot a sidelong glare at Nerasa, who was biting her tail hard to keep from laughing. Yielsa watched him for a few more moments, until he started to feel itchy with embarrassment.
“Well, then,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow on your Hunting assessment. Simetra wants to leave nice and early. Yes?”
“Yes,” Tir mumbled.
Yielsa swept around and padded away. Tir watched her go, noticing the way the sunlight glanced off her golden pelt and made it shine. His head was still spinning, but not over Sirle’s attack of Captain Leron’s hostility. Yielsa’s words kept repeating themselves in his mind.
“You must have been brave…”
He was jarred out of his thoughts by Nerasa, who had released herself and was breaking into hysterical peals of laughter that were not unlike Kesol’s.
“Pretty, isn’t she?” she managed to say. “I think you two will be good friends.”
Tir glared at her.