Shell's Story

by LeRoy Clary

  The wolf, lying a short distance away in the stillness of the night snorted, which sounded like a rude laugh to Shell. He pulled his blanket around himself tighter and watched the roiling clouds. At some point, he fell asleep.

  He woke with the first hint of daylight. Instead of rebuilding the fire and rushing to depart, he lay awake and looked at Henry. The swelling had gone down measurably, especially around the nose and eyes, but the bruising had intensified. The colors all seemed to have darkened. In some way, the boy’s face appeared worse than after the initial attack.

  But Henry slept soundly, and his body probably demanded sleep to recover or at least rest. Shell decided to forego any lengthy travel. The clouds still hung low and gray, and he wondered if the wolf could be persuaded to seek out any nearby shelter before it rained again.

  The wolf touched his mind with the information that there would be no more rain today. How does he know that?

  Shell climbed to his feet, stretch, and rebuilt the fire, using only a few sticks to keep it small, so it didn’t wake Henry. He gathered more wood and then reached for his hand-line. He quickly caught four perch, then one large bass, big enough to feed them both.

  While cooking the fish, and lamenting over not bringing a few spices with him, especially salt, Henry woke. As he sat up, Shell noticed he now looked through one good eye, and the slit of the other, a vast improvement.

  “Morning,” Henry said, barely moving lips that were cracked and scabbed. “I feel better.”

  Shell kept the smile to himself. “Good. I’m not doing so well. I think the wet must have given me a cold or something.”

  Henry’s eyes turned to the bass. “Nice one.”

  “I thought it was going to break my line. Listen, would you mind if we stay here for the day? Give me time to recover?”

  The face twisted into one of relief. “If you need to rest, that’s okay with me.”

  The mental touch of the wolf said, exploring. Just the single impression, not the word, but Shell was beginning to ‘understand’ the wolf and the limited communication. It was trotting in its usual manner, not running, not walking with the long legs that almost seemed too long for its body, as it made the first of several expanding circles around Shell and the campsite. It found an inquisitive field mouse that leaped at the wolf instead of hiding. The action startled the wolf. The wolf jumped back, and the mouse leaped forward again. The wolf jumped to the side and sniffed the mouse before edging closer, then chasing it playfully. The mouse spun, and the wolf jumped away again.

  They played like that for a few minutes, then the wolf left the mouse and that meadow and continued exploring. It was not hungry, didn’t kill for sport, and the entirety of the actions gave Shell the impression the wolf was either younger than he had believed, or still immature.

  “Something funny?” Henry asked.

  Shell realized he had been smiling at the antics of the wolf. After shaking his head, he sat and reconsidered the incident. It was telling in more ways than age. The wolf killed to eat. It also played for fun. But Shell was thinking in terms of a bond with dragons. What had he actually seen in his mind? Impressions that he interpreted, or what the wolf told him? More importantly, had he watched the mouse through the eyes of the wolf?

  He decided he hadn’t. Recalling the incident was as if a descriptive story had been told, but not with the same detail as looking at the scene. It was not what he’d seen, but what he hadn’t. He hadn’t seen the kind of grass the field mouse was hopping in, the color or texture of the dirt, or the background of shrubs and bushes. What had been in his mind was like a moving painting of a cute mouse, big ears, and eyes, and unlike any painting, it moved.

  Shell found himself swallowing hard with understanding, and his mood improving. He didn’t like wolves or hadn’t in the past. They had been one of the enemies of his flocks his whole life and the idea of bonding with one turned his stomach, but perhaps it shouldn’t. However, changing his lifelong attitude of protecting his flock from the likes of the wolf wouldn’t be that easy.

  The thought about bonding made him think again about bonding with the red dragon. He couldn’t feel it tingling on his back anymore. It must have departed at dawn and flew on, but he didn’t know which direction. It had been there during the night and now was gone.

  But he could tell where the wolf was, and it now explored in the direction they had already traveled. He pictured the wolf following their trail part of the way back to the valley where Henry’s farm was, searching for anyone following them. He received an instantaneous reply that translated to already did that last night.

  He shot back, do it again.

  If they were going to follow Henry, they might have waited until the rain quit. Shell waited for the wolf to refuse or confirm, but neither happened. It simply changed its direction and explored further on their back trail.

  Henry said, “Sometimes you blank out like you’re asleep with your eyes open.”

  The observation warned Shell to be more cautious when communicating with the animal, especially when around others. “Yes, I know. Just a bad habit.”

  Henry finished eating, then immediately went back to sleep. As the wolf predicted, the rain held off, and no one seemed to be following them. The Smithson family probably hoped never to see him again.

  Shell found that he too was tired. He went to sleep after placing a few larger logs on the fire. Yesterday had been hard mentally and physically. He couldn’t even imagine how hard it had been on Henry.

  When he woke, the sun had come out; the clouds were mostly gone, and the day warm. A single glance at the position of the sun told him he’d slept most of the day, and if he didn’t stand, he might sleep the rest, then stay awake all night.

  His morose mood had evaporated as he slept. The same things he’d lamented over earlier, the small dragon, the wolf, and Henry, all took on a different, more pleasant light. How many of the Dragon Clan even knew a tiny, adult, red dragon existed, let alone one that shadowed them? Who else had a wolf that touched their mind as a companion? And the incident at the farm in the valley also changed in his perception. He had managed to sell the farm to a family that needed room to grow, saved a boy from almost certain death, and righted a few wrongs in the process.

  He built up the fire up again and considered catching more fish, but decided venison would be better. Too many fish meals left him wanting something else to eat. The heat from the sun soaked into his clothing warmed his skin. As he stood, the kinks and tight muscles worked themselves out.

  Henry woke and started to sit. The swelling on his face was less, but the bruises darker. He too seemed in a good mood and worked his way to balance on a knee before standing on shaky legs. He went into the bushes to relieve himself.

  Shell went to the edge of the river and sat on the same flat rock he’d used before. Feet tucked under him, he watched the ripples on the water and allowed the pleasant mood and quiet of the campsite with the ripple of the river for background, to soothe him. Henry came and sat near him, saying nothing but moving far better than any time since the beating. The decision to rest for a day had been the right one.

  Shell said, “Anything you want to share?”

  “Just how lucky I am that you came along.”

  “Funny. I was just thinking about how lucky I am to meet you and to be able to help.”

  “I’m the one needing you.”

  “Maybe both of us needed something back there.” Shell flashed a smile and drew in a long relaxing breath.

  Danger. The word leaped into his mind as sharp as if a bee stung him. It came from the wolf. Shell instantly thought of the Smithson family following them seeking revenge, but the wolf corrected him. The girl.

  Camilla. The wolf was talking about Camilla. Not that she was causing him danger, but telling him she was in danger.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Camilla in danger? During his sleep, the wolf had ranged far ahead to where Shell intended to travel and must have come
across her scent again. He imagined that the wolf found more of the red leaves within the green ones. But how did it know of danger? And what kind?

  The wolf was far ahead, nearly a full day’s walk from them. He tried to formulate a question of what the wolf perceived as a danger. In return, he understood the wolf had found her scent many times, always heading due west and had never communicated anything similar.

  Now the wolf followed her scent again, and she had abruptly turned to travel north instead of west. For Shell that did not indicate danger, simply a change in course. A mountain in her path, a river too wide to wade across, or even a settlement she wanted to skirt around would all account for her changing direction.

  The wolf repeated, danger. It went on to communicate there were two men now with her. Again, that didn’t mean danger. The wolf grew irritated and frustrated at Shell’s lack of understanding. It sent another impression, one of Camilla’s old scents, the other her new scent. The wolf managed to turn a single red leaf into flaming orange.

  Shell understood. The wolf followed red leaves, which were her scent, but now the red had changed to orange, which meant she was scared and the wolf detected the fear in what it smelled. He was on his feet, estimating the remaining light in the day.

  If they waited, they couldn’t reach where she departed her trail by this time tomorrow. Who knew how far away she would be, then? If he stood any chance of catching up, he needed to leave now.

  “We need to go.”

  Henry looked at him as if puzzled, then making up his mind, said, “I’ll get my things.”

  No questions. No argument. They started out within minutes. Shell pictured the trek ahead and realized that rushing to where she turned north was not required. He didn’t have to follow her footsteps. He formed a triangle in his mind. She followed one leg of the triangle until she turned north. He could cut across country to intercept Camilla, taking the long leg of the triangle cutting off a good portion of the trip.

  The mind of the wolf understood the concept instantly. It ran after Camilla, chasing the scent. Shell knew where the wolf was, and the direction, so he adjusted their direction to reach a place ahead of it and intercept the wolf. He said to Henry while pointing at a white-peaked mountain, “We need to go there.”

  Henry didn’t object, ask why they needed to change directions, or question the need for the sudden departure. He simply accepted and tried to keep up.

  Instead of following an easy path along the river at the lowest point in the valley, they trudged across at a shallow place and trudged up the other side. When they reached the summit, Shell pointed again, and they went down the other side, then into a forest thick with tall trees and a tangle of paths and trails.

  Shell led them from one path to a trail and through underbrush so thick they almost swam through the tangle of vines. Henry never once asked why they were doing it.

  The slight touch of the mini-dragon tingled, which didn’t surprise him at all. The stories all told the same thing. When Dragon Clan was in danger, dragons often appeared. That gave substance to the stories of Dragon Clan calling down dragons for help.

  It remained at a distance, and dusk turned into first dark, the dragon’s touch faded as it found a place to roost. The wolf kept moving. Shell continued long as possible, then pulled to a stop.

  “We’ll have to spend the night here.”

  “Is someone chasing us?”

  “No, a friend of mine might be up ahead, and need help.”

  Henry gave him an odd look, one of disbelief. But he held off asking more as he unrolled his blankets and crawled between them. He was asleep before Shell had his single, large blanket unrolled. As usual, Shell spread it out and laid on half while pulling the other half over him.

  Just two ways of doing the same thing, he thought. But the blankets Henry owned were far cleaner than they had been, even if tattered with more than one hole large enough to put a fist through showed their condition.

  Unexpectedly, Shell also fell asleep quickly. He awoke in the predawn from the mental touch of the wolf and shook Henry. They chewed on venison strips while waiting for enough light to continue. The location of the wolf had shifted more to the right and Shell adjusted their projected path when the wolf again touched his mind.

  Shell pictured three people sleeping around a dying fire. The wolf was close enough to see them, and Camilla was alive. He asked the wolf to let him know when they woke but had no way of knowing if the animal understood, so he asked the wolf to let him know when they moved again. Realizing the wolf still might not understand the concept, he told it to stay in sight.

  If the wolf followed them, he would know the whereabouts of the wolf and know the answers by default. He had a flash of understanding of the frustration the wolf had when it had been trying to explain the danger to him. Impressions are not words. They are vague and undefined.

  “As time goes on, we’ll understand each other better,” he said aloud.

  “Huh?”

  Startled, Shell said, “We’ll know each other better as time goes on.”

  “I like you, and thanks for all the help, but you are a little strange.”

  “I’ve heard that before. Don’t let it worry you. Time for us to go.”

  Shell took the lead again and ahead spotted two large mountains, but a gap existed between them that he hoped would carry them through. If it didn’t, they were going to have to backtrack a half day and circle one of the mountains. The wolf couldn’t help him decide to try the pass or circle around to save more time.

  The wolf had never been there before, but misunderstood Shell and started to run to the far side of the pass to find if the gap went through. It would save time to know, but there was another consideration, Camilla’s safety. Shell said, go back. Stay with the girl.

  The wolf spun and returned.

  Shell asked, is she still scared?

  An orange leaf formed in his mind. He could ask simple questions and receive limited responses, but the orange leaf indicated the intelligence of the wolf was far greater than he had believed. The wolf didn’t have language or at least no verbal language. It understood, though, most of what Shell communicated and devised clever answers.

  Shell said, muttering softly to make sure there was no misunderstanding, attack them if they attempt to hurt her. Kill them.

  Moments later, he received an image in return of two dead men with throats torn out lying on the ground and a girl standing beside them. That satisfied Shell that the wolf understood his directions.

  As the morning progressed, he became more hopeful the split between the two mountains would be a shortcut to where the wolf waited and watched. By mid-day, he knew he’d made the right decision, and the wolf’s position grew nearer.

  Camilla and the two men had been on the move most of the morning, but they moved slowly and under the watchful eyes of the wolf that they had no idea stalked them. Meanwhile, Shell and Henry had cut across the landscape, and as they exited the pass, they were slightly ahead of the other three, but daylight was fading.

  The wolf sent the impression they were stopping again, this time at a hut built in the forest, a hunting cabin if Shell understood the message correctly. The wolf told him the scent of the two captors was strongest near the cabin. They had spent a lot of time there, probably their home.

  The wolf sent another mental image. It was a bright red leaf turning angry orange, and ending in a vibrant yellow. Camilla’s fear had increased.

  “We have to hurry,” Shell said to Henry. The wolf was close, barely over the next hill.

  As tired as they were, both jogged up the long slope of the forested hillside, thankful it was not any steeper. Shell felt the nearness of the wolf, increasing with every step, every labored breath. Then a shot of pure, bright yellow flamed in his mind.

  Shell heard the first of the screams split the quiet of the forest, and they were not in his mind. Camilla had screamed long and loud. It was followed by another scream that abruptly
ended. After the briefest of looks had flashed between Shell and Henry, they sprinted the rest of the way up the hillside and over the top.

  The hut stood directly in front of them, centered in a small clearing. It was made of logs long ago, now weathered and rotted with age. A small path led into the forest at the far side. In the center of the clearing, Camilla lay on the ground, straining and struggling to tear free of her bonds, looking like she was hurting herself in the attempts. She twisted, pulled, and squirmed to move away from the wolf.

  In the clearing were two men, both laying still, and the fresh blood covering their torsos stained them red. Shell raced into the clearing, his knife already drawn. He sliced the ropes around Camilla’s ankles with a single slash, and then freed her wrists.

  She leaped to her feet, eyes wide and terrified, as she held her arms in front of herself in a protective posture. She screamed, “Watch out!”

  Shell spun, knife held ready to fend off whatever danger lurked. The wolf stood at the edge of the clearing, blood dripping from her fur, mouth, and chin. Shell looked past the wolf trying to find the danger, as he mentally screamed at the wolf, where’s the danger?

  An image of the wolf resolved in his mind.

  Henry said, “I think she’s scared of your dog.”

  “His dog?” Camilla screamed, backing away from all of them, but her eyes were on the wolf. That’s no dog!”

  “It’s mine,” Shell said, admitting the truth for the first time.

  “T-that beast just killed those men. It ripped their throats out.”

  Not knowing what he should say, he allowed the words spill out. “I told her to do that if those two hurt you. It’s my fault. The wolf just did what I asked.”

  Camilla was shaking, as her eyes remained locked on the wolf, probably not hearing or understanding half of what he said. Shell looked at the two dead men and noted their throats had been ripped out as he’d asked. They were dead, and there were no others in the cabin. He put his knife away, approached the wolf and knelt on one knee in front of her. The amber eyes steadily watched him, never blinking.