It reels for a few more moments before it drops. I use a bit of magic to clean the gore off my face before I launch myself off the bear. I run to Kenric and start patting him, checking for injuries. He laughs and whispers to me, “Shift back, love.”

  I focus for a moment and shift back before any of these men can get a good look at me. “It’s alright. No one’s injured.”

  I heave a sigh. “Thank the gods! I was afraid I wouldn’t make it here in time.”

  “What are we hauling back for dinner?” Tobias asks.

  “Three stonehorns,” I grin.

  “I don’t know if we have enough men to haul all that back,” Tobias says.

  “I need to get back to your father. I’ve already had to chase off a pack of wolves,” I say.

  Inaba stops me, “We’ve mostly been following Torsten’s trail. We keep losing yours.”

  “I climbed a few trees to pick up the herd’s scent. We might have changed direction a bit,” I explain. Inaba nods, and I set off again. I’m anxious to get back to Torsten. My honor guard, Kenric, a few of Kenric’s men, and Tobias weren’t enough to fend off a bear.

  Torsten alone wouldn’t stand a chance against the wolves if they decided to come back, much less a bear. I’m concerned enough to pick up my pace a bit. I get back to the fire and find Torsten watching the wolves as they circle just outside the firelight. I growl, low and deep. This time, their bellies hit the ground as a sign of submission. Their leader crawls toward me, whining and looking at one of the carcasses we’ve yet to dress. I roll my eyes. Even male wolves act like this.

  I suppose they’re hungry, and maybe that’s how they ended up as our companions in the first place. Before dogs became what they are today, they were wolves. They roamed freely, following only their own instincts. Their interactions with humans were usually either squabbles over a kill or, occasionally, treating us like members of their pack or their cubs. Somewhere along the way, something like this happened. They traded their freedom for easy meals and space in human dens, by the fire.

  Now, dogs are pets, guardians, and even war companions. This pack of wolves is about to make that same leap again. I know what needs to be done, but I don’t know how Torsten will react. I lick my thumb and draw it down Torsten’s forehead.

  “Sorry about that, but it’s the wolf equivalent of he’s with me.”

  Torsten gives me a look but lets it pass.

  “They’re submitting, asking to join our pack in exchange for food. Their senses are a lot sharper than yours. They could be quite helpful to you, given what’s coming.”

  Torsten considers this and nods. I start slicing open the belly of one of the stonehorns. I reach in, pull out bits, cut them up, and parcel them out.

  As I feed the wolves,I keep talking to Torsten. “I’d suggest that you keep them fed and train them with your men. These wolves will need to get used to working with humans, and your humans will have to get used to things like wolf greetings.” Torsten frowns in confusion, so I explain. “The way they say hello is disconcerting to humans. They want to grab your lower jaw and give it a shake.”

  Torsten watches the wolves as they gorge themselves. “I can see where having a mouth full of teeth coming at your lower jaw would be upsetting if you’re not expecting it.”

  “Wolves are far more complex than most give them credit for. They’ll want to bump noses with you, lick you, rub against you, bump into you, play with you, and sniff you in some inappropriate places. You’ll need to learn what their different body postures and vocalizations mean. They have a large vocabulary.”

  “That’s going to take some time,” Torsten says.

  I nod. "It will, but once they consider you pack, they’re loyal as long as you’re loyal to them. They’ll recognize your intentions by your scent. You have to be in the right mindset to be around them. If you aren’t, then don’t. If they smell fear, they’ll eat you."

  I hear Kenric and the others approaching. "You’ll need to go warn them. Tell them to approach slowly and only after you’ve scent-marked them, like I did with you. Warn them about the greeting. They’re likely to see it in action.”

  While Torsten’s gone, I take a few moments to chat with the pack. They’re curious about us, and I try to answer as many of their questions as I can. Their questions are blunt and candid, as only animals and small children can be. Some of their questions make me laugh. I explain that it is a mixed pack, made up of many animals and other two-legs, as they call us. They are shocked to learn there are herbivores in our mixed pack. I also tell them that their usual greeting is quite shocking for two-legs.

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  All those teeth coming at our throat and face are unsettling, to say the least. The wolves think this is amusing, but I remind them that the human’s reaction might not be so funny. They’re surprised by this because violence within the pack is rare and usually followed by an overly friendly period. When two-legs feel threatened, they tend to kill first and ask questions later. I believe this is because they lack natural defenses. They don’t have fangs, claws, or even poison.

  It's not long before Torsten returns with Tobias, Kenric, and the others. They’ve cached the bear, and we’ll pick it up on the way back to the lodge. We rig some drags to haul the stonehorns and the bear back. The wolves circle us and fan out through the forest. I can hear them yipping. These stonehorns are heavy. Even dressed, they’re more than I can lift. I can drag one, though. The wolves are impressed as we uncover the bear and load it onto another drag.

  Three stonehorns, a fight with them, and a battle with a bear, but I am not wounded at all. They want to stay with me, but I picture Dobile for them and the palace there. I have to go back there. They sense that I do not wish to, but something they do not understand is forcing me to. I cannot explain court politics to them. I know how they would settle it, but that does not work in human terms. It used to work in Fey courts, but we stopped following the Old Ways. If we had, I would not be here, and Kenric would be my Royal Consort.

  I explain to them that this would make me the pack leader of all the Fey packs. They seem to agree with me. If your pack leader isn’t effective, he should be replaced. This is for the good of the pack. The pack is everything, and every member must help keep it healthy. It’s the pack's responsibility to replace the leader if he’s no longer leading properly. They think I’m a good leader because I hunt well, I’m generous with the food, and I try to communicate clearly.

  When we reach the lodge, there’s a lot of yipping and howling. I duck inside and mark Melina, the other ladies, and the staff we brought with us. I want the wolves to understand just how large the pack is. The wolves are impressed by the size of our group. I have to explain that there are more pack members at Torsten’s keep. Everyone pours out of the lodge to start processing all the kills.

  Tobias nudges Torsten, “That was a good hunt. Which ones are yours?”

  Torsten shakes his head and nods at me.

  “All of those are hers, even the wolf. Who killed the bear?” Torsten asks.

  “She did,” Kenric says. “She came bursting out of the forest, into the little clearing where we were trying to stage a defense. She latched onto its back and climbed on top, like a cat climbing a tree.”

  Kenric describes the fight with the bear. It doesn’t take long before there’s a stew simmering and some roast turning on a spit. I open my pack and give Melina some wild garlic, wild onions, pepperweed, emberleaf, and ironroot.

  Melina grins and ducks back into the kitchen with my foraged goodies. Fresh vegetables are always a welcome addition. The peppery kick of the pepperweed, the smoky, spicy flavor of emberleaf, and the earthy yet potent herbal taste of ironroot will be fabulous in the stew. The bread is baking, and we’re settling in for a nice dinner. There’s plenty of meat to salt down and start curing. We sit drinking and watching the staff.

  It's been a lot of hard work to get all four of them back to the lodge.

  Arno looks at the antlers of the bucks I took. "They’re all white. That means the winter should be fairly mild."

  I look at Torsten who explains it to me. "They chew on rocks, and when it’s either going to be a big battle, like a challenge for the herd patriarch, or a bad winter, they chew on a lot of iron-rich rocks. It makes their antlers a dull, rusty-red color."

  Luka chimes in. "Their antlers don’t shed. They continue to grow.”

  Tobias nods, “The minerals they consume influence the color of their antlers each year. Rusty-red is a bad sign, but it's an even worse omen if it’s the herd’s Patriarch. It indicates he has been eating iron ore to boost himself, either for a major battle or for a long, terrible winter. No hunter would risk taking down a stonehorn with red antlers. It means you’re taking on the curse.”

  “If you’re ever lost in a blizzard or white-out, follow the stonehorns,” Torsten says, “No matter how poor the visibility, the herd never loses its way. It rarely slows down.”

  “I’ve done that before,” Tobias says, “You might not be able to see the horizon, the stars, or even just a few feet in front of you. As long as you can see their tracks, you’re not lost. They’ll lead you to grazing and water. All you have to do is hang back a bit so they don’t feel threatened. Stop when they stop and move when they move.”

  “If you get too close to the herd, they’ll try to trample you. Some of the males might even try to attack you, like that third stonehorn did,” Torsten looks at me and grins.“We have a lot of stories about the stonehorns. Some say that their antlers lead them even when they can’t see.”

  Hmm… if there’s iron in them, as they say, that’s possible. The iron might be like the needle of a compass.

  Torsten continues, “Some say that the stonehorns created the mountains. The mountains were not made by gods, but by a beast. The oldest stories say they were made by the first of the stonehorn patriarchs. In the Dawn Age, before even the rivers settled, the first stonehorn patriarch ate his fill of grass and fell asleep. His massive body stretched across the land.”

  Ulrick rolls his eyes, but Torsten keeps going, “Over centuries, his bones became the granite peaks, his thick coat became the moss and the forests, and his breath became the cold mountain air. The great herds we see today? They are simply the pieces that broke off the original god-beast when he stirred in his slumber, before he became a solid mountain.”

  Luka laughs, “No one believes those old tales.”

  “You should write them all down. There’s often a kernel of truth to them that takes ages to uncover and understand. They’re part of your culture and should be preserved. If they’re not recorded now, they won’t be there when your grandchildren’s grandchildren’s grandchildren finally get around to deciphering it,” I reply.

  Luka snorts, “No one cares about those old stories. They serve no purpose.”

  “What if something did lie down here and become the mountain? What if some is sleeping under all that?” I ask.

  Have you ever been camping? Where at? Let me know in the comments...