Chapter 12
The next day, after the horses had their breakfast and the first chill was out of the air, we rode out looking for the nasty creature that had attacked Twilight. It was more than curiosity that made me want to be sure it was gone. Something about the attack didn’t make sense.
For a predator to stalk the same horses long enough to know where to wait along their trails seemed odd. The predators around here usually range far and wide to find prey. They don’t usually follow one group around, hoping for an opening because that group knows they’re there after a while. The element of surprise, a huge part of any attack, is lost. And to make things more suspicious, this predator hadn’t chosen a very good time to go after Twilight. Attacking her when her sire and dam were right there to save her was a major blunder.
So it was a mystery, and Kestrel and I love mysteries. Our first step in solving this one was to go where Twilight was attacked.
The snow was trampled and discolored with old blood, as if someone had sprayed it with rusty brown paint. I could see where Twilight had thrashed in the snow, and where I had, too, before I’d learned how to push her panic and pain to the back of my mind. Embarrassed, I turned my back on the flattened snow and hoped Kestrel wouldn’t notice.
“So what are we looking for?” she asked, staring down at the old blood with distaste.
“Tracks? I don’t know. Anything that looks interesting.”
She looked around at the battered snow, and farther out, the myriad tracks. “Well, there are lots of horse tracks.”
I started to scout around. Rusty followed me, his nose almost in my jacket hood, then suddenly he stopped. Wolf this way, he said. So he thought it was a wolf too. He snorted and walked to my right, pulling me gently and firmly along with him at the end of his reins.
“What’s he doing?” asked Kestrel.
“I don’t know,” I said, trying to sound surprised. Rusty stopped and sniffed at the snow in a relatively untrampled spot – and there they were. Tracks.
“It’s a wolf,” I said for Kestrel’s benefit, seeing the large canine prints in the rumpled snow. “A big one.”
“Wow, cool. Good job, Rusty.” Kestrel was already mounting Twitchy. “Let’s follow them.”
The tracks led onto the snow crust where they were harder to see, but not impossible, and then to a spot nearby where the wolf had waited for the mustangs to pass.
“There’s no point in backtracking it,” I said. “We need to see where it went, not where it came from.”
“I agree,” said Kestrel. We rode around the place where Twilight had been attacked until we reached the untouched snow and eventually the wolf’s tracks again, arrayed in the skiff of snow over the snow crust. Great spaces stretched between each stride, as if it was running for all it was worth. And alongside it were a horse’s tracks. I could just imagine Night Hawk or Wind Dancer racing along beside it, reaching with yellow teeth to bite it as it ran. I hoped the mustang got in a few good ones.
Eventually, the horse tracks stopped where the pursuer gave up and went back to the herd. The wolf tracks kept going. Soon the spaces between its long leaps lessened. Then it was obviously just loping along, in that ground-covering stride that wolves do when they want to cover a lot of country quickly and efficiently, at a pace they can maintain all day and night.
But then the strides grew shorter, and finally, it was trotting, then walking across the crust of the snow. Was there something wrong with it? There was no blood on the snow to mark its passing, but maybe it had been injured internally by Night Hawk or Wind Dancer, or even by Twilight as she struggled to free herself from its savage grip.
We followed the tracks as silently as we could as the morning crawled along. It was hard to keep quiet in the bright, cheery, relatively warm day. Kestrel and I usually only saw each other every couple of weeks in the winter, and there was always lots to talk about. But we could come across the wolf at any time; we needed to be concentrating, not gabbing.
The tracks stopped at the bottom of a dirt and rock ridge. The incline was too steep to hold much snow, but as I searched its surface, I saw scuffs of snow marking the rock here and there. The wolf had climbed the ridge. And on second glance, it didn’t look like it would be that hard to follow. There was a narrow trail, or outcroppings at least, to step on, all the way to the top. I signaled to Kestrel that we should climb up and she nodded so we dismounted and tied the horses to tree branches.
“I’ll go first,” I whispered at the bottom of the incline.
“Don’t loosen any rocks to fall on me.”
“I’ll be careful.” But it wasn’t as easy as it looked. The “trail” that scooted up the rocky hillside was pitted and uneven and not remotely used to heavy traffic. A wolf would be fine with its weight evenly distributed on four neat paws, but humans with their big flappy feet? That was a different story. I used my hands a lot and, bit by bit, we moved upward.
Halfway up, we paused to catch our breath. Maybe it would’ve been smarter to try to find a way around the bluff. What if the wolf’s tracks just continued on at the top? We couldn’t leave the horses below and follow on foot. However, we were too close to the top to discuss it now, even in whispers, so I kept going.
At long last, we reached the top. Before looking over the edge, I waited until Kestrel was beside me – then together we slowly raised our heads over the lip of the ridge. The land dropped on the other side. We lifted higher. There were the tracks, leading down a gentle slope. Down, down, down – straight to the wolves. Two scrawny puppies sprawled in the sun in front of their den, panting in their sunbath.
They were both black, with bones jutting beneath their rough, unhealthy coats. How long since they’d had a good meal? Before the cold snap that started weeks ago? I felt tears well in my eyes. I certainly didn’t like what the adult wolf had done to Twilight, but it had just been trying to save its babies, probably born late in the season. The pups needed food desperately and, sadly, the adult wolf was probably just as weak as these two. No wonder it didn’t range far and wide to find food. No wonder it had simply tagged along after the mustangs whenever they were nearby, until it knew their trails, and then waited for them to pass.
A sudden thought struck me and I quickly glanced around, then looked down the cliffside to Rusty and Twitchy below. Where was the big wolf now? Dead from starvation? Or hunting? Hopefully, it was alive, but not nearby and planning on almost-teenaged girl or domestic horse for lunch. I motioned to Kestrel to go back down. Carefully, we retraced our steps, and at the bottom returned to the horses.
“We need to get them some food,” said Kestrel, as if she’d read my mind.
“We can give them some moose jerky. We don’t have lots left though. Mom might get mad.”
“We have lots of beef at home. I’ll bring you some next time I come.”
I grimaced. “You know Mom. She won’t accept charity.”
“It’s not charity. It’s just repaying what I borrowed from you to give to the wolves. Right?”
“Right.” I grinned. Kestrel can be pretty sneaky.
We trotted home, put Twitchy and Rusty in the barn to have an oat snack and a short rest before we headed out again, and were just edging around the cabin to “borrow” the jerky when the smokehouse door opened and Mom stepped out.
“There you are,” she said, totally unsuspecting. “Come in and have some lunch. I made cookies to celebrate Kestrel’s visit. They’re almost ready to take out of the oven.”
I must admit that we weren’t too broken hearted about going inside to eat, though I felt a bit guilty about the starving wolves as I ate my cookies. But their trials would soon be over – as long as the adult wolf was still alive and hunting. The warmer weather would help it catch food, because the small prey wouldn’t be hiding away from the cold, and in the meantime, the jerky would give the pups a nutritional boost.
It was late afternoon before we could get away without creating suspicion. We got the horses re
ady quickly, and then I ran to collect a big bag of jerky while Kestrel stood watch.
Still, despite our hurry, night was riding our heels by the time we got all the way back to the wolf’s ridge. I put the bag over my shoulder as I started to climb, Kestrel right behind me. At first it was easy making our way up the slope again, but as dusk descended, it became harder and harder. I wasn’t sure how on earth we were going to get down again, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that.
At last we reached the top. Just like before, we peered over the hill. There was the den, but there were no wolves in sight. They must be inside – or possibly lurking about in the half-dark. A shiver jittered down my spine. Because they were black, they might be in the shadows near us and we wouldn’t see a thing.
Kestrel and I kept our eyes on the opening of their den as we took chunk after chunk of meat and threw it toward the black hole. Then we started back down.
Climbing down was worse than I imagined it would be – and it didn’t help that halfway down, we heard the wolves up above. The two pups were fighting over the food. Then a loud roar drowned them out – the big one, trying to get them to stop, I guessed. However, despite its parental intentions, it sounded terrifying. My heart quickened, I moved a little too quickly, a little too jerkily – and lost my balance. I tipped backward, wildly grabbing for anything that could save me, and my hand closed on a loose rock!
If Kestrel hadn’t grabbed me, I would have fallen. As it was, the rock went spinning into space and, moments later we heard it hitting tree branches. The wolves stopped their squabbling to listen. All sound became as frozen as the land.
Then we heard them again, fighting over the food. Relief swamped my body.
Kestrel stopped moving along the narrow rocky trail. I thought she just needed another moment to steady her nerves – I needed it anyway – but then she grabbed my shoulder. The whites of her eyes shone in the half-light as she pointed upward, and my breath caught in my throat as I looked up.
A massive black wolf stared down on us. Its dark form was etched against the night sky and I could see the glint of the last light on its teeth. It looked to the right of us and growled, and the low rumble stole the final bit of air in my lungs.
Then quick as thought, it was gone. The pups immediately fell silent.
Kestrel and I strained to hear a sound, any sound. And I did. One of the horses stamping the snow below us – and to the right.
Everything became clear. It had seen us, no doubt, stuck on the ridge. And it had seen the horses tied up. This wolf was no dummy. It wasn’t going to gulp down scraps when captured prey waited patiently below, prey that could feed its pups for a couple of weeks. It was on its way to bring down one of the horses.
Wolf coming! I mind-shouted to Rusty.
I could feel fear surge through him, and then Twitchy reacted to his panic by throwing herself back against her reins. The branch bent back, but the reins were thick leather and didn’t break. She strained for a moment, then jumped forward again.
“Come on, Evy,” Kestrel said. “Come on!”
I snapped my thoughts away from the horses. We tried to rush along the slope but it was too dangerous to go very fast, and because of the blood pounding in my head and every cell in my body screaming at me to hurry, hurry, hurry, we seemed even slower than we were.
Then Rusty sensed the wolf. It must have run around the other side of their hidden home, then circled around behind the horses. I could feel its presence in Rusty’s mind, a terrifying shadow monster slinking through the tree trunks toward them.
“It’s down there,” I gasped to Kestrel – but my best friend was gone!
She’d jumped!
I looked down. The snow was only eight feet or so below us, and Kestrel was already picking herself up and running toward her horse. Taking a deep breath, I leapt from the cliff.
My knee hit a rock beneath the snow and for a moment, all I could do was lie there in a bath of pain. But then Rusty’s fear careened into my mind. Somehow I scrambled up and staggered toward him.
“Hurry, Evy!” Kestrel shouted. She had already untied Twitchy and was moving to Rusty’s head now. And then the three of them were running toward me, one set of reins clasped in each of Kestrel’s hands. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I croaked, even though the pain radiating from my knee up into my hip and side made my whole body quiver. I felt weaker than a mouse. I leaned on Rusty as I moved around to his side and put my good leg in the stirrup. But I couldn’t push off with my right leg and came down with a thump. A silent scream ripped through my body.
“Try again,” Kestrel said, her voice frantic. I did, and she shoved me upward as soon as I was off the ground. I slumped across Rusty’s back and then was astride. Seconds later, Kestrel was on Twitchy’s back and we were off, galloping through the snow, leaving the wolf behind to be nothing more than a dark smear against the trees. The only thing that caught us was its howl, full of frustration and loss as the cry rose and swelled around us, vibrating through our blood, echoing in our bones.
Winter of the Crystal Dances Page 12