old, either.
The man forbade eating such things, for it would make him sick if he changed back soon after. But how about just a look at the meat? He padded around to the edge of the clearing near another abandoned hut and found the body of a horse, perhaps just a day old. He sniffed. It had died of the horse plague which had made the beasts so rare and valued. But humans didnât catch that sickness. Nor wolves. One little mouthful would not make the man too sick, not like the time of that week-old stuff which had nearly killed him, and made him refuse to shift form for over a year.
With what sounded like a growl but was really a note of pleasure, the wolf ripped into the carcass, sending off a cloud of little black bugs. His jaws cracked bones, loosing delicious marrow. Heaven!
He was so occupied it took a moment for his keen ears to notice menâs voices from the hut nearby. With a whine he obeyed dutyâs call, rose from his prize, stalked around the clearing and saw shields had been laid to rest by the front door. There were some the colour of Tanton, others of High Cliffs. The wolf listened for a while, locking in memory conversation of which it understood only parts. It heard that war brewed among cities who were just recently friends. It heard that these two cities â Tanton, High Cliffs â now sought the Pilgrim, thinking him responsible for something or other. The Pilgrim held a mighty weapon, they said, and might help them, although he was very dangerous. If need be he could be slain, but the weapon must be captured. It was their last hope in the war.
Far Gaze the man would listen to it all later. The man would be far more pleased with his wolf incarnation for storing these words in his mind, than for the meat in his belly. It was time to go. The wolf bounded off again through fields of crops plundered and scattered.
So much heâd already scented in the long nightâs sprint. From the scents alone it would seem a hundred messengers had come.
And there, Anfenâs scent! Faint though, quite faint. He had been through here many days ago. The wolf turned north, followed the cooling trail, then caught sight of another plume of used magic. Instinct said to chase that instead.
Half a mile later her scent hit him strongly. He ran into a green valley, between light grey trunks of papery bark, leaped a brook with shimmering cold water then slowed to a careful stalk. She was close! Scents told the wolf locals fished here every day, children swam the waters. But they werenât here now.
The water burbled among the brookâs boulders, hiding the sound of the wolfâs feet padding down. There was her laughter, free and easy. He would not fight her this time, he decided. Unless a gift opportunity came to catch her offguard, he would stay hidden, watch her and learn. Later, the man would know what to do about her.
The brook spilled itself into a little blue lagoon a short way down. Something had stirred up the water down there, making it murky with silt. Again came the womanâs free, clear laughter, echoing and filling with joy the little glen closed about her like the cupped hands of a forest meaning to protect its daughter. The airâs scents promised danger and a very changed world, but here she had only mirth. The wolf whined quietly in confusion.
A green dress hung over a tree branch. Not far from it, her body lay beside the water, naked and white as a pearl, one knee languidly raised, eyes closed, legs open to the waterâs edge so that occasional lapping waves of it nearly splashed up against her thighs. Her skin glistened from water, beads of it running off her. She had big round scars. Across her midsection there was a hard plate, as though part of her belly had become wood or stone.
Something moved in the water before her. Something quite large, but staying deep, sent lapping waves to its edge. A dark pointed length of flesh poked above the surface, wound slowly
The man forbade eating such things, for it would make him sick if he changed back soon after. But how about just a look at the meat? He padded around to the edge of the clearing near another abandoned hut and found the body of a horse, perhaps just a day old. He sniffed. It had died of the horse plague which had made the beasts so rare and valued. But humans didnât catch that sickness. Nor wolves. One little mouthful would not make the man too sick, not like the time of that week-old stuff which had nearly killed him, and made him refuse to shift form for over a year.
With what sounded like a growl but was really a note of pleasure, the wolf ripped into the carcass, sending off a cloud of little black bugs. His jaws cracked bones, loosing delicious marrow. Heaven!
He was so occupied it took a moment for his keen ears to notice menâs voices from the hut nearby. With a whine he obeyed dutyâs call, rose from his prize, stalked around the clearing and saw shields had been laid to rest by the front door. There were some the colour of Tanton, others of High Cliffs. The wolf listened for a while, locking in memory conversation of which it understood only parts. It heard that war brewed among cities who were just recently friends. It heard that these two cities â Tanton, High Cliffs â now sought the Pilgrim, thinking him responsible for something or other. The Pilgrim held a mighty weapon, they said, and might help them, although he was very dangerous. If need be he could be slain, but the weapon must be captured. It was their last hope in the war.
Far Gaze the man would listen to it all later. The man would be far more pleased with his wolf incarnation for storing these words in his mind, than for the meat in his belly. It was time to go. The wolf bounded off again through fields of crops plundered and scattered.
So much heâd already scented in the long nightâs sprint. From the scents alone it would seem a hundred messengers had come.
And there, Anfenâs scent! Faint though, quite faint. He had been through here many days ago. The wolf turned north, followed the cooling trail, then caught sight of another plume of used magic. Instinct said to chase that instead.
Half a mile later her scent hit him strongly. He ran into a green valley, between light grey trunks of papery bark, leaped a brook with shimmering cold water then slowed to a careful stalk. She was close! Scents told the wolf locals fished here every day, children swam the waters. But they werenât here now.
The water burbled among the brookâs boulders, hiding the sound of the wolfâs feet padding down. There was her laughter, free and easy. He would not fight her this time, he decided. Unless a gift opportunity came to catch her offguard, he would stay hidden, watch her and learn. Later, the man would know what to do about her.
The brook spilled itself into a little blue lagoon a short way down. Something had stirred up the water down there, making it murky with silt. Again came the womanâs free, clear laughter, echoing and filling with joy the little glen closed about her like the cupped hands of a forest meaning to protect its daughter. The airâs scents promised danger and a very changed world, but here she had only mirth. The wolf whined quietly in confusion.
A green dress hung over a tree branch. Not far from it, her body lay beside the water, naked and white as a pearl, one knee languidly raised, eyes closed, legs open to the waterâs edge so that occasional lapping waves of it nearly splashed up against her thighs. Her skin glistened from water, beads of it running off her. She had big round scars. Across her midsection there was a hard plate, as though part of her belly had become wood or stone.
Something moved in the water before her. Something quite large, but staying deep, sent lapping waves to its edge. A dark pointed length of flesh poked above the surface, wound slowly
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