The Rise of the Fire Moon

  ***

  “Oh, dear, Most Honorable Firepelt. I believe you have a tick, did you know that?”

  Tir opened one eye. Something blurry and yellow was leaning over him. It was wearing a maniacal grin. Tir shut his eye.

  “Leave me alone, Kesol,” he mumbled.

  “Oh, yes, yes, that is well enough. A great big tick it is, too. Big and round and grey—like a boulder. A boulder tick, Firepelt.”

  Tir groaned and rolled over in his den, determined to fall back asleep.

  “But don’t you worry yourself, little Firepelt. I’ve come to help you.”

  Thwack! Someone thumped Tir hard on the back, and he jumped up with a yelp.

  “Got it,” Kesol said.

  Tir glared at Kesol and yawned, curling back up on the ground to go to sleep again.

  “Would you know what else, Firepelt?” Kesol was saying conversationally.

  “Go away, Kesol,” Tir growled through clenched teeth.

  “Well, last night Simetra the Hunter found me and said, ‘Kesol, tomorrow morning I want you to go find that Most Honorable Firepelt and wake him up.’ And guess what, Firepelt? It is tomorrow morning!”

  Tir opened one eye and then closed it. Kesol poked him with a paw.

  “Guess what, Firepelt!” he said. “You’re going on a hunt!”

  Tir jumped up, instantly awake. The milky light of dawn was seeping into his small den, and Kesol was dancing in circles at the entrance.

  “Already?” Tir asked.

  “Why of course! We can’t let the day go stale, can we?”

  Tir didn’t reply. He hastily began grooming himself, pulling stray leaves and bits of dead grass out of his spiky pelt.

  “Look, Firepelt, is that another tick?”

  Tir jumped out of Kesol’s range and slipped out of his den, shivering in the frigid morning air. A few other wolves were up as well, milling around the redoubt main and moving in and out of dens. He first caught sight of Yielsa—her gold fur shimmering in the dim light of dawn. He swallowed and reverted his gaze to Simetra, who was sitting in front of the Hunters’ dens, her thick red-brown fur whipping around in the wind. A scrawny, timid-looking black wolf Tir knew to be named Raatri was at her side, his tail thumping the ground. Kesol ran up to him and pounced on his tail, earning a sharp cuff from Simetra.

  “Good morning,” Simetra greeted as Tir padded up to the group. “A bit harsh and windy, but that should burn out with the sun.”

  Tir nodded and sat down, wincing at the coldness of the ground.

  “Well, don’t sit down!” said Simetra, rising to her paws. “Now that you’re here, we can get moving.”

  Tir jumped back up. “Will we eat?” It felt like ages since he had last eaten, and he felt as though he might blow away on the wind like a dead leaf if he didn’t eat soon.

  “We’re going hunting,” Simetra called over her shoulder as she moved out of the redoubt, Raatri and Kesol at her heels. “We will eat what we catch.”

  Tir sighed and ran to follow them.

  Tir sat patiently while Simetra gave her speech on Hunters, which was not quite as dull as Leron’s.

  “Hunters are the providers of the pack,” she was saying, her face towards the wind. “Hunters must be swift and clever; they must bring in the prey to feed their packmates. Hence our name, ‘Hunters.’”

  Beside him, Kesol giggled.

  “So why are the Sentinels called ‘Sentinels’? Do they sentin?”

  Simetra gave him a sharp look, and Yielsa smiled.

  “In hard times,” Simetra continued, ignoring Kesol’s snickers. “…the Hunters must find alternative ways to bring in food. A possible way suggested by Captain Leron is to fish in the river. We have never fished before, but it is possible we can learn how. Fish will hold us even in the merciless jaws of winter.”

  She looked up at the flat grey sky, and sighed.

  “Winter is approaching fast, but it is not here yet. Therefore, today we will stick with orthodox hunting.”

  She nodded at Tir. “Let’s see how fast the newcomer can catch us a rabbit.”

  Tir padded away, uncomfortably aware of the others’ eyes following him as he scented the wind. In his old pack, he had been a fine hunter. But that was when he lived in the forest. It would be different to hunt on the plains.

  He first made sure the wind was blowing in his direction. It was, and he moved forward feeling somewhat more confident. At least the prey would not be able to scent him.

  Tir did his best to block out the roaring sound of the wind and tried to focus on smaller, prey-noises. His ears swiveled around, listening hard. For a few moments, he sat perfectly still, hearing nothing. Just as he was about to give up, he heard a tiny scuffle. The smallest of sounds, just the miniscule scratching of a small, furry paw on the ground. But it was a start.

  He dropped down into the hunting position, ears pricked forward and body almost flat to the ground. Now—there it was! Just the faintest trace of rabbit on the wind blowing in his face. He put the sound and scent together, trying to pinpoint the tiny creature in the sea of sweeping grass.

  Tir crept forwards, almost invisible under cover of the grass. His paws flowed over the cold ground, moving fast but without a sound. The small scratching sound was deafening to his ears, and his heart began to race as the scent of rabbit grew stronger.

  Then, he saw it. The biggest rabbit he had ever seen, crouching under the grass and nibbling on a bit of grain. Tir crouched still, striving to blend in with the grass around him. He was invisible to the rabbit, he told himself. Completely invisible—

  Tir surged forward. The rabbit started, dropping its grain. But Tir’s paws crashed down on it before it had a chance to run. He bit the creature’s neck, killing it instantly.

  The rabbit dangled from his jaws, swaying to and fro as he dashed back over the windswept grass towards the rest of the hunting patrol. Simetra looked up in surprise as he approached, her tail waving in the wind.

  “That was quick,” she said. “You do have the makings of a fine hunter. Raatri could learn from you.”

  The small black wolf called Raatri lowered his head, ashamed, but he sent Tir a sheepish smile. Yielsa was smiling, too, he noticed. Had he been that quick?

  Despite the windy day, Tir felt warm with pride. He had done it—and while Yielsa was watching, too. He dropped the rabbit at Simetra’s feet, but she shook her head.

  “Certainly not,” she said, her rigid jaw twitching in what could almost have been a smile. “That is yours. You may eat now.”

  And as the others left for a moment to catch their own prey, Tir was feeling better than he had in a long time.

  “Look at those!” Raatri breathed, pointing across the lake with his tail.

  After they had all caught and eaten their prey and examined Raatri’s paw, which he had somehow managed to get bitten by a snake of some sort, Simetra had led the hunting patrol over to the lake. The wind was rippling the surface of the water, creating small waves that washed up over the paws of the five wolves as they stood on the banks. Across the lake was a large group of the strangest creatures Tir had ever seen. They were far taller than any wolf and had shiny brown pelts. Some of them had strange, spiky things sticking out of their heads, almost like leafless tree branches.

  “They’re mice!” Kesol squealed, dancing on the tips of his paws. “Massive, mean mice with sticks on their heads—”

  “Shut up, Kesol,” Simetra barked, peering across the lake with interest.

  “Mice?” Raatri said. “But I thought mice were—”

  “They aren’t mice, Raatri,” Yielsa whispered. “They’re deer.”

  “What are deer, exactly?” Tir asked, gazing at the strange-looking animals with wide eyes. He had never seen one before but, then, he was only three winters old. There had not been deer in his old forest.

  “Prey,” Simetra said, showing her teeth. “And fine prey they’d make too, one of them would feed half the pack.”


  The five wolves watched the deer in silence, broken only by an occasional giggle from Kesol.

  “They look dangerous,” Raatri said. “Look at those sticks on their heads.”

  “Deer can be dangerous,” Simetra agreed. “But a wolf is more than a match for them. They are soft and clumsy.”

  Tir, who had listened to this in silence, noticed something strange.

  “Are they eating grass?” he said.

  “Of course,” Simetra said. “As I said, they’re only prey. Not much different from oversized rabbits.”

  “I told you they were mice,” Kesol hissed, and Simetra cuffed him around the head.

  “No, really!” he insisted, jumping out of Simetra’s reach. “Mice and rabbits are the same thing. Once they hatch from their eggs, you can—”

  “Come on,” Simetra said, turning around. “Let’s go back to the redoubt.”

  Nerasa raced up to meet them as soon as they arrived.

  “How’d it go?” she asked. “You catch anything?”

  “We caught a mouse,” Kesol told her solemnly. “A big, brown mouse with sticks on his head.”

  “Mice don’t have sticks on their heads!” Nerasa snapped at him.

  “I suppose you have much to learn, Laugher,” Kesol said, dancing out of her reach as she swiped at him. “And guess what I learned today? I learned why you’re called a Sentinel.”

  “It’s because I guard the redoubt,” Nerasa growled.

  “Wrong again! You sentin! Sentin sentin sentin!”

  Nerasa growled at him, and he skipped away, cackling and colliding with Captain Leron, who was talking to Sirle by the Sentinels’ dens. Nerasa turned on Tir.

  “Well?” she demanded. “You have a sensible answer?”

  “I caught a rabbit,” Tir said proudly.

  “Fantastic. I’ve caught a rabbit, and I’m not even a Hunter.”

  “It was a big rabbit.”

  “If you say so.”

  Nerasa’s irritable mood faded when Alpha Liyra came and announced to Tir that his Placement was to be that night. First, she said, the Council would have to discuss where he would be best.

  “Maybe you’ll be a Sentinel!” Nerasa said, after the alpha left.

  “No, that wouldn’t work,” said Tir. “You know that I can’t fight at all.”

  Nerasa snorted. “So what? You weren’t that bad. And no one can beat Captain in a fight anyway.”

  “You did.”

  “Nuh uh.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  Nerasa rolled her eyes. “All I did was shove him, I didn’t fight him. No one can beat him—that’s why he’s the captain, see? Anyway, he hates me now. But that’s okay; I can live without his approval.”

  “I can’t,” Tir said darkly. “He tried to kill me. I’ll swear on anything that he’ll try again.”

  Nerasa shook her head. “But that was a one-shot chance. He won’t risk trying it again. Mind you, he’ll still do his best to get you kicked out of here. He doesn’t want outsiders in the pack—he thinks it’ll weaken us—and he’ll do almost anything to get his way, as you know by now. But you don’t need to worry. So long as you’re on Alpha’s good side she won’t hear a word against you. Captain’s been trying to get Palva kicked out ever since she was able to snarl at him. You hear me when I say it’s a lost cause?”

  Tir nodded, somewhat reassured.

  “And anyway,” Nerasa continued. “He just hates you ‘cause he doesn’t trust you. To him, you’re still a mad, diseased stranger. An outsider, you know. All you have to do is stay out of his way and make him think differently.”

  Make him think differently? As much as Nerasa was confident, Tir doubted Captain Leron would get over his hostility so easily.

  “…but whatever you do,” Nerasa was saying. “Don’t try to stand up against him. He hates it when someone resists him.”