Read Online The Third Book of the Dun Cow: Peace at the Last by Walter Wangerin Jr. - Free Book Online

voice.
    It’s Boreas himself! Somewhere in the east.
    Down the side of the cutbank is a washout which has formed a rocky stairway down to up. John Wesley comes climbing up and takes a position beside Pertelote.
    “Lady Pertelote?” he says. “Might-be sun-shiningnesses makes a good day?”
    “Did you hear Boreas howl?”
    The Weasel squints toward the northeastern sky. “What is?” he asks.
    He points. Pertelotes follows his aim, and there in the vermillion sky is a black dot careering crazily.
    Pertelote watches as the black dot grows.
    “I think it’s a Bird,” she says.
    “Birdy, Birdy, is a Birdy. But lookee! Is a rum-pot of a Birdy.”
    The Animals come wandering up the rock-stairs.
    “A slatternly Bird,” Pertelote agrees. “I think he’s losing feathers.”
    The Bird yells, “Quork!”
    John Wesley bounces up on his hind legs. “By Gaw, is a boogaloo mess! By Gaw! Is flap-happy Crow!”
    In spite of her dolor last night, Pertelote is amused. What an awful trash of a Bird! But a Raven, not a Crow.
    Finally the Raven crash-lands on the edge of the cutbank, clambers backward, then rights himself on long black claws.
    He clacks his outsized beak. “Hey ho, brother Weasel. Kangi Sapa here.”
    John Wesley ramps himself up to full height. Kangi Sapa’s head is level with John’s so long as the Weasel can keep his narrow body straight.
    “Is a John Double-U of the Double-U’s here,” says John. “What’s the what, Boogaloo?”
    “What’s the … Oh!” says the Raven, “I get it. You’re a mush-mouth! Uneducated fellow. Ask me, your mother never taught you proper speech. Well, that’s okay, brother. I can dig it.”
    “Does Boogaloo Crow wants a mush in his mouth? John Double-U, he’s got a sock what can clog a Birdie’s beak!”
    “At ease, Double-whatever-you-call-yourself. I’ve come to scout you out. Checking the premises, you see, before my friend arrives. I must say, Sir Cranky Weasel, you make me a little nervous.”
    Pertelote says, “Your friend?”
    “Wachanga. A bit of sweet honey and soft on the eyes.”
    “Well, Kangi Sapa,” says Pertelote, “Wachanga will be safe with us. Don’t mind the Weasel. He may talk like a brute, but he’s got a big heart.”
    John Wesley glares at the Raven, exactly like a brute.
    But before the Weasel can make good on his glare, Boreas the White Wolf appears, walking as always with his noble mien, but clearing his throat and coughing in mild embarrassment. He has the queer aspect of puppyhood in his eyes.
    He doesn’t come alone. Boreas is leading another Wolf, somewhat smaller than he. Where his manner is courtly, hers is delicate. His eyes are white. Her eyes are grey and lined with an antimony black. His coat is pure white. Hers has the richness of cream. And she moves with grace and modesty. Pertelote finds her an altogether elegant Creature and loves the Wolf immediately.
    “Ah,” says Boreas. “Um,” he says. And he says, “Her name is Wachanga. Yes. Wachanga.”
    When Pertelote steps forward to welcome the Cream-Colored Wolf, and when she touches Wachanga’s muzzle with the tip of a feather, something like an electrified cord binds the two women together.

[Twelve] In Which the Cream-Wolf Begins To Remember
[Twelve] In Which the Cream-Wolf Begins To Remember
    The Brothers Mice sit like an audience of seven, their eyes fixed on this improbable black Bird.
    The daylight sun is strong. Animals are nibbling the dirt from their fur. Hens are grooming their feathers. Creatures have swept several areas clean of snow. Cold bones are growing warm again.
    The black Bird strolls off in a slovenly circle, his beak up as if he’s whistling and thinking of nothing but nothing at all. He passes behind a snowdrift and disappears from the Mice’s sight.
    What? They were waiting for a show. Is the show over already?
    Suddenly the Raven is behind them. “Boo!”
    Instantly every Mouse breaks into giggles. What a thrill! Boo. What a funny thing to