Read Online Warrior Scarlet by Rosemary Sutcliff - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rosemary Sutcliff
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feathers on which the bright blood had turned brown were shining with pride and beauty again.
‘It is a fair price,’ said Talore, seeing where he looked. ‘Let you take the cub now.’
Drem nodded, for the moment beyond speech, and crossed to the hurdled-off place where Fand stood with her muzzle down and her tail slowly swinging, among the yippings and whimperings that came from the piled fern.
His heart was beating right up in his throat with the joy of the moment as he pulled the low hurdle aside and reached down among the small, sleepy forms in the bracken, and grasped the one with the silver blaze by the scruff of the neck and lifted him out from between his brothers. Fand made no protest, and indeed seemed scarcely interested. He held the puppy up, swinging a little from its loose scruff; he laughed as it tried fromarm’s length away to lick his nose, and knew that the perfect moment, the best moment of all, had come.
‘I have bought my hound!’ he said to the world at large. ‘I have paid the price for him, and he is mine! I shall call him Whitethroat!’
‘So, that is a good name,’ Talore said. ‘And now it is time to be going home.’
Drem looked up from the puppy. ‘I shall need to leave my spear here until tomorrow,’ he said, ‘so that I can carry the cub.’
‘Assuredly,’ Talore nodded. ‘His legs are but two moons old, and the way will be over long for them; yet first make him follow you a little. It is so that he will understand that he is your hound to follow at your heel.’
Drem looked at the hunter doubtfully a moment, then squatted down and set the puppy on its legs. ‘Will he come, do you think?’
‘Call him, and see.’
Drem got up and took a step backward. ‘Hi! Whitethroat, come!’ The puppy continued to sit on its haunches. It was too small as yet to prick its ears, but it fluttered them, gazing up at Drem with the air of one trying to understand what he would have it do. Drem drew another step towards the doorway. ‘Come! We go home now, brother.’ The puppy whimpered and made a small thrusting motion towards him. Aware that everyone in the house-place was watching them, Drem took yet another backward step. He was almost at the threshold now. ‘Whitethroat—here!’ His throat ached with urgency, and the words came hoarse. He whistled a two-note call that he had never thought of before, but that seemed to come to him now as the proper call between him and Whitethroat. The small, brindled, half-wolf cub got up, sneezed, shook itself and waddled towards him, its stomach brushing the ferny ground. Once it hesitated, and looked back at Fand its mother with an air of uncertainty, and then padded forward again. And Drem knew that he had been wrong in thinking that the momentwhen he picked it out from the litter was the best moment of all.
He was across the threshold now, looking back over his shoulder as he went; and the cub gave a bounce and quickened to a rolling trot. They went down between the out-sheds together, the hunter leading, the hound at his heels, as it should be; as it would be in all their lives together. But at the edge of Talore’s steading, Drem stopped in answer to a protesting whimper, and scooped up the puppy and settled it against his shoulder, in the crook of his sound arm.
So Drem walked home up the sweeping flanks of the Chalk, through the still summer darkness, with his hunting dog asleep, warm and live and unexpectedly heavy, in the crook of his arm; and a kind of chant of triumph singing itself over and over again within him. ‘I have bought my hound! I bought him with a great white swan—a swan like a sun-burst, that I slew with my throw-spear! I have bought my hound, and he is mine! He was sired by a wolf, out where the wolves pass at the Spring Running; and he will be the swiftest and the bravest hound that ever ran with the Clan, and he is mine! Mine is the cub to me because I paid the price for him—I, Drem the Hunter; I bought him
‘It is a fair price,’ said Talore, seeing where he looked. ‘Let you take the cub now.’
Drem nodded, for the moment beyond speech, and crossed to the hurdled-off place where Fand stood with her muzzle down and her tail slowly swinging, among the yippings and whimperings that came from the piled fern.
His heart was beating right up in his throat with the joy of the moment as he pulled the low hurdle aside and reached down among the small, sleepy forms in the bracken, and grasped the one with the silver blaze by the scruff of the neck and lifted him out from between his brothers. Fand made no protest, and indeed seemed scarcely interested. He held the puppy up, swinging a little from its loose scruff; he laughed as it tried fromarm’s length away to lick his nose, and knew that the perfect moment, the best moment of all, had come.
‘I have bought my hound!’ he said to the world at large. ‘I have paid the price for him, and he is mine! I shall call him Whitethroat!’
‘So, that is a good name,’ Talore said. ‘And now it is time to be going home.’
Drem looked up from the puppy. ‘I shall need to leave my spear here until tomorrow,’ he said, ‘so that I can carry the cub.’
‘Assuredly,’ Talore nodded. ‘His legs are but two moons old, and the way will be over long for them; yet first make him follow you a little. It is so that he will understand that he is your hound to follow at your heel.’
Drem looked at the hunter doubtfully a moment, then squatted down and set the puppy on its legs. ‘Will he come, do you think?’
‘Call him, and see.’
Drem got up and took a step backward. ‘Hi! Whitethroat, come!’ The puppy continued to sit on its haunches. It was too small as yet to prick its ears, but it fluttered them, gazing up at Drem with the air of one trying to understand what he would have it do. Drem drew another step towards the doorway. ‘Come! We go home now, brother.’ The puppy whimpered and made a small thrusting motion towards him. Aware that everyone in the house-place was watching them, Drem took yet another backward step. He was almost at the threshold now. ‘Whitethroat—here!’ His throat ached with urgency, and the words came hoarse. He whistled a two-note call that he had never thought of before, but that seemed to come to him now as the proper call between him and Whitethroat. The small, brindled, half-wolf cub got up, sneezed, shook itself and waddled towards him, its stomach brushing the ferny ground. Once it hesitated, and looked back at Fand its mother with an air of uncertainty, and then padded forward again. And Drem knew that he had been wrong in thinking that the momentwhen he picked it out from the litter was the best moment of all.
He was across the threshold now, looking back over his shoulder as he went; and the cub gave a bounce and quickened to a rolling trot. They went down between the out-sheds together, the hunter leading, the hound at his heels, as it should be; as it would be in all their lives together. But at the edge of Talore’s steading, Drem stopped in answer to a protesting whimper, and scooped up the puppy and settled it against his shoulder, in the crook of his sound arm.
So Drem walked home up the sweeping flanks of the Chalk, through the still summer darkness, with his hunting dog asleep, warm and live and unexpectedly heavy, in the crook of his arm; and a kind of chant of triumph singing itself over and over again within him. ‘I have bought my hound! I bought him with a great white swan—a swan like a sun-burst, that I slew with my throw-spear! I have bought my hound, and he is mine! He was sired by a wolf, out where the wolves pass at the Spring Running; and he will be the swiftest and the bravest hound that ever ran with the Clan, and he is mine! Mine is the cub to me because I paid the price for him—I, Drem the Hunter; I bought him
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