Read Online Rose Eagle by Joseph Bruchac - Free Book Online Page B

the piece it had torn from the firewolf in its battle.
    â€œChirrr?” it growled, so weakly that it was almost inaudible.
    I cupped my other hand and held it up for Phil to pour water into it. Then I lowered the water to the badger’s mouth. It weakly lapped some of the water up.
    Phil knelt by me. He put one hand on my shoulder as he reached out his other hand and stroked the wounded badger’s head with one finger.
    â€œCan we do anything for him?”
    I shook my head. “Not much. But get my pack.”
    When Phil returned with it, I took out one of the med-packs that held antibiotic powder and shook some out onto the tears in its skin, most of which were on its broad shoulders and its right side. The badger didn’t resist or react as I did so, even though I knew the powder was likely burning as it fell into those wounds. Phil poured water into his own palm, and the badger drank it, too.
    I carefully picked our little warrior up, carried him into the shed, and placed him next to the place where he had been taking shelter. I filled a cup with water and placed it next to him along with a small pile of jerky.
    â€œWhat now?” Phil asked. “Can we treat his wounds any more?” His eyes were glistening as he looked up at me.
    Seeing Phil’s tears made me want to hug him.
    â€œNo,” I said.
    There was nothing more we could do. I’d felt no broken bones when I’d picked the badger up. If there were no major organs damaged inside, then it might survive. Badgers are tough. Whatever the case might be, this was the home it had chosen, the place where it had wanted to live. This was the place, if its injuries turned out to be mortal, where it would want to die. All we could do now was go.
    So, after closing the door and locking it again, we went.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN
    W e moved faster than the day before. The firewolf scout that our little striped warrior had driven away had me spooked. Had it been tracking us? Once again, it was outside the range where firewolves had always been before. We should have been a good twenty miles away from their staked-out territory — which was mostly south and west of Big Cave. Did it mean that they were extending their range? Could we trust Uncle Lenard’s map to be accurate about the location of other dangerous creatures?
    As for this firewolf, maybe it had been wounded so badly that it wouldn’t be following us.
    Or maybe not.
    The farther and faster we could get away from last night’s shelter, the better.
    As we trotted along, Phil had no trouble keeping up with me. That was good. And he kept quiet. Which was better. True, there were times when he seemed about to say something. More than once, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him open his mouth, then shake his head and close it. Probably thinking better about starting to sing some song he’d made up about one of those Ridge girls.
    We quickly put ten miles behind us. By midmorning, we had reached Highway 90 and turned west. But we didn’t travel on the wide former interstate road. Too exposed, visible from miles away to anything with a little elevation — from a hilltop or maybe flying. Friendly birds were not the only things with wings hereabouts, if the rumors were to be believed. They were all second- or thirdhand, heard from the few folks who, every now and then over the past few months, had managed to reach the safety of Big Cave after trekking down from the north. They told stories about things with leathery wings twenty feet wide. The tales were of predators scarily similar to the flying dinosaurs of millions of years ago. From what Uncle Lenard told me, the creatures were said to be a blend, if you could believe it, of condor, crocodile, and bat, with — due to the peculiar tastes of the Dakota District’s Overlords — human genes added for some insane flavoring.
    Uncle Lenard had never seen any of the new age pterodactyls,