<<< PREV | FIRST | NEXT >>>

This chapter was actually meant to be a 2-parter, but the first half ended up so long, I'm actually just putting the second chunk in the next chapter.

In other news, the guys over at  furplanet have officially let me know they're interested in making this a novel some day! I've given myself a deadline for an AC release, but it'll be tough to hit. We'll have to see!

Expect to see chapters more frequently, though! And possibly even some kind of crowd-funding like we did for Heretic in the future :) There are several images, this one included, that I would absolutely love and would really prefer to do more work on, but that's the sort of thing that takes hours and hours of my time. Might make for good milestones for a donation drive, though. I'd really love to really illustrate this book as well as I have it in my head.

In any case, Grant fans, enjoy :) This chapter is plum full of husky.

Chapter 12 - Comfort


"We should have stayed together," I murmured, my breath fogging in the air as the cold of the starless night had now truly descended.

I felt Grant give a soft sigh from behind me, his chest moving with the motion "You're probably right," he agreed, "but he was so insistant. . . ."

"Ransom's like a pup," I muttered. "You can't always give him his way. This negates the whole point of my coming along. I don't care about hunting the beast, I just wanted to be certain he didn't do anything stupid.'

"Well he said he'd not stray outside shouting distance from the trail," Grant said, and I felt the tensing of his shoulder as he pulled his reins to the right, turning the horse around a large outcropping of dark rock. The earth was little other than stone up here, tracking was going to be nigh on impossible. It would be different if there were snow on the ground, but it had apparently gotten warm enough up here to have melted down to bare ground.

Pity that hadn't stuck.

I'd been so warm in camp, I'd forgotten to bring my Dyre hide cloak. I still had my winter coat, but it simply wasn't proving enough, out here on an exposed trail, with the wind kicking up the frigid breaths from the mountain peaks.

I wasn't too proud to nestle back into the Otherwolf behind me at this point, shivering was far more mortifying and pathetic-looking. I managed only the occasional shudder. I barely came up to the man's shoulder, and much of the wind was shielded by him. He was also wearing a long winter coat of some kind of Otherwolf design that, admittedly, was apparently effective as well as looking dashing. I'd thought upon first seeing it that it wouldn't be. But he was very warm.

Grant was silent, but he kept his arm wrapped snug around me, even though we were barely at a walk, now. I didn't argue. If he didn't need his other for the reins, I'd be happy to have both.

The man probably would have given me his coat if I'd asked, but it would have been ridiculously large on me and I knew he only had his vest and shirt on beneath it. I at least had leather.

"Your people," I said curiously, wanting some break in the silence, "what are they called, again?"

"Ah, well we call ourselves 'Carvecians' now," Grant replied. "Although we used to be 'Amurescan'. Amuresca is our home country. I believe your people call us 'Otherwolves', which I've always found interesting, and mildly amusing-"

"No, not that," I said, "I meant. . . yours. Specifically. Your. . . tribe? Like how," I sighed, trying to explain, "like how I'm Anukshen."

"Oh! You mean my pedigree?"

"I don't know," I said with a shrug. "Is that how you identify yourselves in groups?"

". . . in a way. It's more complex than that," Grant said. "My pedigree is who I am by blood. It's important to God, and to Priests, and. . . the rich. But I wouldn't say it's how I choose to identify myself. It's how some choose to identify themselves, above all else."

"But not you."

"I feel as though. . ." he struggled for a few moments, apparently trying to find the right words. "Birth is something that's beyond our control. It's too hard to say every man should shape his life around something so beyond his ability to change. Life shouldn't be so limiting. Sometimes people can be more than they were born to be. And sometimes they can't be what they were born to be."

"I know a fox who would agree," I replied quietly.

"They call my breed 'huskies'," the man continued, readjusting his arm around me, his pawpads moving gently to settle as chastely as he could against my hip. I resisted a shudder, but this time it hadn't been from the cold. "Generally we're laborers, or tradesmen. Most people would say we're not meant to be in positions of authority. But I worked hard, and clearly impressed someone in the Forces at some point, because here I am."

"Are you from the North. . . in this country of yours?" I asked, trying not to focus on those pawpads, and how much I wanted them to move again.

"You can tell?"

"Your fur," I said pointedly.

"Ah, of course," Grant nodded. "We were the furthest-flung peoples near a border with a country called 'Kadrush'. Our northern neighbors. There's some speculation as to how our breed began. . . a lot of people think we were another breed once that mixed with wolves. I suppose it's not entirely out of the realm of possibility. There were many mixed families in the border towns. It's a matter of survival in the Kadrush tundras, you don't let prejudice get in the way of finding strong, reliable mates. . . and the wolves of the Kadrush are nothing if not that."

"So, that's where you were born?" I asked, still trying to make sense of this concept of 'another world'. "This Amur. . . ah. . . ."

"Amuresca? No," the husky chuckled. "No, I'm third generation Carvecian, not fresh off the boat. My great-grandfather and his family moved here almost around the time of the war. Apparently as awful as the priests here can be to low breeds, things back home were even worse. They wanted more for their children."

"Low breeds?'

"People whom God has not favored as much as others," Grant attempted to explain. "People whose blood is closer to the divine are real Pedigrees. People like my family are. . . not so much."

"I don't think the gods made any of us any less worthy at birth than anyone else," I stated. "Whether we're Otherwolves, women, or. . . rats. I refuse to believe any of us are just. . . born better."

"Talk like that is Heresy," Grant said with a very authorative tone. "The priests would say it's arrogance to not accept the straw you drew at birth and live your life the very best you can, within your role."

I glanced up at him, arching an eyebrow, but I noticed the smirk creeping over his features at that.

"But according to the good book, it's also Heresy to slaughter a lamb three days out of the week, for women to be seen by anyone but their own husband without their ears covered, and for men with long, wiry tails not to dock them at birth. Even the Pedigrees don't keep to that one much anymore," he finished with a chuckle. "I've never put much stock in it all, to be honest with you. I think there are a few good ideas tossed in there and I'm sure a lot of folks get hope out of the idea of the next life being kinder to them than this one, but. . . I'd prefer to make the most of the one I have right now. And I'd rather not go through every day trying to atone for wrongs I did in a previous life I can't remember, in hopes that I'll be born a dachsund the next time around."

"Your religion is strange," I remarked.

"Don't your people have a holy legend about a trout that gave birth to your ancestors, somehow?"

"Alohena," I said, trying to keep myself from laughing, and failing, ". . . is a. . . salmon, thank you very much!"

"Oh, well that makes much more sense, then," the husky said good-naturedly.

"It's a. . . a tale," I said, trying to figure out how to describe what I meant. "A metaphor. Alohena is a water goddess. The legends say each tribe was carried by her, as one small egg, left all across the land on river banks to grow and flourish in different ways. But we all depend upon the water to live, no matter what creatures we are. It is meant to remind us that we may all be different peoples, but we share a common bond. It is not meant to be interpreted literally. At least I don't think so."

"I don't think most of religion is meant to be interpreted literally, honestly," Grant agreed. "Pity there are so many who do."

"It is," I said softly, unable not to feel the many marks hidden beneath the fur on my skull.

I felt the Otherwolf lean down over my shoulder, and that was definitely his chin brushing against my ear.

"Are you still cold?" he asked.

I was glad he couldn't really see my nose, or he would have noticed how flush I'd become. ". . . no," I said at length, "not any more." I glanced up past the rocky crags we were passing and the snow-covered mountain beyond. All I saw was rock, rock, and more rock. No giant white saber lions.

"Although I'm beginning to think this trip won't yield much," I said with a sigh. "What a waste of time and sleep."

"I wouldn't say it's been a waste," the husky murmured, his breath still near my ear. His arm was gentle, but firm around my waist, and he shifted it again, perhaps on purpose this time.

I held my breath for a few moments. . . then let it out slowly, when nothing further happened.

"I keep waiting for you to do something inappropriate." I blurted out. "And you never do."

My statement seemed to catch the canine off-guard, and I could almost feel him give a wry smile behind me. "Should I?" he asked at length.

"No, I just. . . ." I sighed. "I think I'm just too used to Ransom. And. . . " my words faded for a moment, before returning, more quietly, ". . . other men. . . ." He had no reply for me to that, so I just turned to look up at him, murmuring, "I'm not saying stop being a decent man. It's a rare commodity. It's just. . . I-I guess it's hard for me to believe, sometimes. I keep waiting for the mask to drop away, or something-"

"It's permanent, I assure you. It's just how my fur is colored," the husky said with a smile.

"Gods, that was hackneyed," I said, unable to stop myself from giving a hiccup of laughter. "Do you hear yourself sometimes?"

"It's a gift," the man replied, still smiling. "My mother said I should never give it up. She insisted a warmed-over line like that would win over a girl, someday."

I averted my eyes away at his last comment, shutting my muzzle and trying very hard not to be drawn back in. But I could feel his gaze on mine, intensely, for a further few moments. . . and then at length, he gave a soft sigh.

"I still have little to no chance, do I?" he asked quietly, and perhaps a bit sadly. "I wish I knew what I could do to catch your eye, Shivah. . . ."

"I wish you could explain to me why you want to," I responded, running my pawpads through my mane.

"You. . . don't like being flattered."

"Can't you explain it to me without flattering me?" I begged, finally looking up at him again.

The husky just gave a perplexed smile. "No," he said, after barely a moment's pause. "I. . . can't explain why I'm fond of you without describing you, Shivah. That would be like explaining a sunset without describing its colors."

I gave a frustrated sigh, trying not to reflect on the fact that that had been perhaps one of the most endearing things anyone had ever said to me.

He continued before I could get another word out, though.

"I goes beyond a simple admiration of your beauty-"

"It would all but have to," I muttered.

"-or a fondness for your charming. . . ." he gave a mild smile. . . "personality. It's a fierce. . . admiration. . . and respect for you. As a person, not just as a woman. I've known women before, I've even been fond of women before, but never anyone like you."

"You hardly know me," I insisted. "We've known one another for less than three weeks."

"I don't need to," he said easily. "Actions speak louder than the little nuances we come to know about a person over time. I might not know your favorite meal, or which songs you most preferred as a child, but. . . I know you're a woman who's survived despite great odds, makes your way in the world nearly entirely independently, and is seeking justice for a wrong done to the people you once called your family, despite the fact that they cast you out," he smiled softly at me. "And honestly? I've always had a thing for women that can shoot."

I looked down, suddenly feeling a pang of shame for my true reasons for hunting Methoa. It was easy to focus on my pain and forget that many others had died because of his actions, as well. I could tell myself I was hunting him for them as well, and in fact, I'm certain that did affect some of my determination. But my motivations were far more self-interested than Grant knew.

"Grant," I said at length, his name feeling so much more natural on my tongue now than it once had. "I. . . ."

I was silent for a few long moments, during which the Otherwolf said nothing, giving me all the time I needed.

". . . I was married," I said at length. "To a man who treated me very poorly. He. . . hurt me. Terribly."

I saw the canine's ears tip back, his expression falling somber and sad.

"He's the reason I was exiled," I continued quietly, "and now he's. . . he's with Rourke and his men. And I think he's the reason my village was destroyed. Both of them. He blamed my family's village for. . . me. . . being a disappointing wife. And he was cold enough to kill. . . anyone. . . no matter how close they were to him." I chose for the moment not to tell him about my son. Not because I didn't trust him with the knowledge, I just couldn't bring myself to talk about him. Not right now.

"Shivah. . . ." the canine murmured.

"So I'm sorry," I said, shaking my head, "if I seem unapproachable, or even just downright horrid. I'm not even excusing my behavior, I'm ashamed of myself, honestly."

"No," he insisted.

"It's just hard for me to," I stammered, "believe. . . that there are good men in the world. You've given me no reason to be suspicious of your kindness, or your regard for me, and I'm not saying I doubt your decency, it's just-"

"Shivah," he interrupted me softly, shifting his arm and loosely looping the reins over the horn of the saddle, letting go of them. I watched him free his hand, my heart skipping a beat at the implication. But as always, he soon calmed my fears.

"I'm going to embrace you," he warned me quietly, "is that alright?"

I only thought on it for a moment or so, before I gave a slow nod.

He wrapped his arms around me, gently at first, then when I didn't flinch away, I found myself tightly enclosed and wrapped up in the embrace. I had my back to him, but I turned to furrow my cheek as closely as I could into his jacket and his chest beneath.

I took a long, deep breath and let it out, the cloth of his vest warming beneath my nose. After over a week spent on the trail, I was finally able to catch more of his natural scent, and for some reason that was comforting.

His chin dropped down over my shoulder, his muzzle coming as near to me as I'd ever allowed a man. Methoa'nuk had raped and bitten me in our private moments together, but he'd never shown one ounce of affection to me. The last man who'd ever nuzzled me had been my father, when I was a kitten.

And Methoa had never kissed me. No one ever had.

I gave a shuddering breath, turning my muzzle into his collar and closing my eyes, warring with myself over whether or not I should just accept this for what it was and be grateful for the comfort, or hang on to that thread of doubt and keep my defenses up. My instincts had been so confusing of late, and they seemed at odds with my own common sense, which was beyond unusual for me.

Maybe I should just stop fighting myself. I wasn't certain it was really worth the effort to be so oppositional to the man, anymore. I couldn't make sense of how I really felt about him and even if I wasn't entirely as fond of him as he was of me, there was no fighting the fact that right now. . . I was more comforted than I had been in weeks. And there had to be something to that.

As much as Grant might complicate things for me, it couldn't possibly be any more distracting than fending him off had been.

Besides, would it really be so bad to feel this way more often? It felt as though the air inside my chest was lifting, like I'd taken a breath before plunging into water. My fur was prickling down my spine in waves every time he gave a breath against my shoulder. I felt. . . hopeful for something. And not knowing what was both frustrating and mildly exciting.

I just had to hope he knew what to do.

"Grant," I murmured quietly, mustering some courage.

He pulled back a bit, so that he could look me in the eyes.

"If," I glanced aside a moment, before continuing in a murmur, "if you'd like to. . . do something inappropriate now. . . you may."

The husky smiled, and for once, it didn't bother me. But his response surprised me.

"No, that's. . . that's alright," he replied. "I think you deserve some patience. Certainly more than I've shown thusfar."

I let out a breath. "You've been nothing if not decent so far."

"There is something I've been wanting to do for quite some time," the husky rumbled against me, his thumb running down over the seam of the leather tunic covering my hip. I could feel the ridge of his claw.

". . . what?" I asked at length, focusing on breathing.

The man slipped one of his paws from around my waist and moved it up to my cheek. . . then carded his fingers through the loose locks of my mane that the wind had tossed partially over my face, and tucked them gently back behind my ear. The sensation was strange in so many ways, but all of them were good. The unfamiliarity of anyone but myself touching my mane, for one, sent a shiver down my spine. But he was also a canine and his claws were perpetually out and blunted by use, so the feel of them through my hair was. . . .

Well it must have been equally enjoyable for him, because he was in no hurry to stop. It was only after running his pawpads through the longest locks, from my scalp on down to my totem beads, that he paused.

And I was mortified when I realized why.

"I. . ." he cleared his throat,". . . are you. . . purring?"

Denying it would have been ludicrous, of course, but I didn't really know what to say, other than to avert my eyes to hide the scathing embarrassment in them.

He extricated his hand from my mane and shifted in the saddle, looking suddenly uncomfortable. My embarrassment doubled. I so infrequently purred, I hadn't ever really thought about it in Ransom or Puck's presence, but. . . was it somehow disturbing to non-felines?

"I-I'm sorry," I said, quietly. "I didn't mean. . . it just happens. I didn't know it would bother you."

"I assure you, it isn't. . . bothering me," he replied to me in an odd, rather thick tone, for him. He shifted in the saddle again, putting a few inches between the two of us before speaking again. "I just. . . maybe we should walk. Do you want to get some air?"

I nodded, and he began to shift up in his saddle . "Let's get some air," he repeated, almost more to himself than to me. He dismounted first, then helped me down with a hand. I was glad to be off the saddle as well, to be honest. In addition to being uncomfortable after so much time in it, being so near the Otherwolf right now was making me feel. . . odd.

Odd was the only word I could think of to describe it.

I wondered if Grant was feeling odd as well, he certainly looked like I felt right now. We put some distance between ourselves as we walked. Where to, I doubt either of us knew. We were supposed to be looking for some kind of lion, right?

The night had gone in a strange direction.

"Should we tie him?" I asked the husky as we left his gelding behind.

"Helios is a good horse, he'll not wander," the Otherwolf assured me. "He doesn't need the lead tied. And honestly, on the trail, I prefer not to. I'd rather he be able to run if a predator comes around."

"What cruel irony would that be?" I wondered aloud. "If the horse was the only one who saw our quarry."

Grant laughed, seeming a bit more comfortable now that we had some air between us. "Aye. But that would be just our luck, wouldn't it?"

"I wonder where Ransom is," I wondered aloud as we moved slightly off-trail through the rocky terrain surrounding. The land up here was so unusual compared to what I was used to, I'd never been so high before. There was less and less earth between the boulders and rocks and none of the trees grew much above my shoulder. Their gnarled arms were stunted and nobby and they grew at almost impossible angles in some places, seemingly from the rocks themselves. If you followed the trunk of one of the miniature trees to its base you'd often find it growing from a small crack between two boulders, its roots shooting down into unseen earth beneath.

Mosses varying in every autumn shade covered the ground, some almost flower-like in their appearance. The soft, oddly-textured carpet of them beneath my feet felt strange and alien. I paused at one point and flexed my toes into a particularly squishy lump, resisting the kitten-like urge to peel it up and play with it. But I really wanted to.

The clouds above were blocking most of the stars, but as the night had gone on, one particularly blanketing cloud had slipped away from the moon, and finally let the heavens shine down in the small gap it left. I looked heavenward, taking in the still quiet, my gaze leaving the earth entirely as I watched each pinprick of light reveal itself from the blue-lit edge of the cloud.

"Have you never come here?" Grant asked from beside me.

"No," I shook my head. "I've lived in the valley all my life, but I've never gone so high into the mountains. It's like a different world up here."

"You should see the sky when it's clear," the husky said with a soft smile, "you can see every star in the sky. It's like being on top of the world."

I turned and looked to the west, to where the highest peak of the mountains rose. The mother's spine. From here, it was much more visible than it was from the valley, where it almost always appeared hazy and shrouded by cloud cover. The weather currently was cloudy, but fair, save the unusually aggressive winds up here. But up further along the spine, the earth grew white and icy, reflecting the light from the moon. It was beautiful, but I could understand why Ransom had said it wasn't scalable. Even a mountain-dweller like myself would be hard-pressed to make their way over those sheer cliffs, through that ever-lasting winter.

Grant had begun to walk ahead of me, so I skipped a few rocks to catch up, leaping the boulders as I once had in my youth and trying to suppress a smile when I saw the husky look my way and smile at my antics.

Thoughts of the wraith lion faded into the back of my mind, even though that was, on the surface, why we were out here in the middle of the night, wandering aimlessly through the mountains. Something about this place was just. . . peaceful. Quiet and beautiful. I don't know how I'd missed it, traveling along the trail through the day, or how I'd allowed myself to be in such a poor mood, then.

I didn't even worry about finding Methoa'nuk, for a little while. It had been ever-present in my mind for weeks now, the fear of reaching my destination and having no further leads. . . but right now, I was here. And there was nothing I could do from here, I was finally beginning to realize. My trail hadn't reached its end yet, and if and when it did, I'd find a way to keep going. Tearing myself into a frenzy was accomplishing nothing. And this felt so much better.

I hated to attribute any of my current peace to my companion, so I gave the credit to the mountain, instead. I don't know. Maybe it was a combination of both.

Maybe.

As we continued surveying the area around the trail where, roughly, we could only guess, this 'Robert' had seen the lion, I couldn't help but notice something that despite my current good mood, was bewildering to me. I'd managed to catch up with Grant after he'd moved ahead of me some time ago, but the man always increased his stride when I went on ahead of him, and would ask me to hesitate in a murmur before we stepped past any obstructions in the landscape, like massive boulders or dips into lower terrain.

At length, when he again moved ahead of me to climb down a large, jutting rock face towards a small moss-laden valley, I reached up and batted at his ear to get his attention.

"Wha-?" he looked down at me.

"Why do you keep doing that?" I asked, curiously.

". . . doing what?" he asked.

"Moving on ahead of me," I said, making a face. "You won't ever let me lead. Is this some sort of male. . . thing. . . amongst Otherwolves? You have to be first?"

"Oh-no. No, no," he insisted, "I swear, it's nothing like that."

"Then why do you keep doing it?" I demanded, crossing my arms over my chest. The man was nothing if not confident, but I hadn't thought him one for machismo.

"Apologies. . . it's just a habit," the husky admitted at length, "from the slums."

For some reason, he seemed uncomfortable with the conversation. But curiosity got the better of me, and I pressed on.

"What is that?" I asked.

"Where I grew up," he responded, not turning to look back at me as we continued through the small, mossy valley that had been over the ridge we'd crossed. We still weren't far from the trail, but this place had been hidden by the large outcropping of rock, so it was a valid place to check.

"So, like your village?" I asked, curiously.

"You could say that," he replied. "Although that's a nicer name for it than. . . most would give. It's just a large section of Arbordale, the city I grew up in. The Capital."

"Is your family still there?" I asked, curious about these 'cities' Ransom had described. They were so big they had separate villages inside of them? How big could they possibly be?

"Yes, unfortunately," the husky murmured. "Although I moved them a few years ago to a better residence. It's still on the fringe, but. . . it's safer. Cleaner. It was the best I could afford. I'm hoping to move them again once we bring Rourke in."

"And in your village, men are supposed to walk in front of women?"

"No, no. It has nothing to do with gender," Grant insisted, turning to regard me finally, with a sigh. He glanced down, straightening his coat a moment, then continued, "It's just not a. . . good place. It's not safe, there's a lot of crime. . . people dump their wash buckets out the windows above. . . and there aren't much in the way of good roads, so most travel's by foot through the alleys and a lot of small streets. I got in the habit of walking ahead, so that. . . ." he gestured at the air with his paw, ". . . if anything is around the corner. . . ."

My expression softened. "Why would you be ashamed to admit that, Grant? There's nothing wrong with protecting your family."

"I suppose it doesn't matter to you," he said with what almost sounded like relief. "It's just, with another Carvecian. . . it's a bit humiliating to admit what. . . ah. . . 'village' I'm from. It's not exactly an illustrious origin, and people tend to assume a lot about me based on. . . where I came from. Unflattering things."

"Oh, so your village was dishonored, somehow?" I queried. I really knew very little about how the Otherwolf world was, even from the outside, let alone from within. But I thought I understood. Sometimes a village or a tribe would go to war, or make trouble for others in the nation. Sometimes they would act dishonorably or show cowardice and treachery towards their neighbors. Certain tribes had poor reputations for such behaviors in the past. People were people, after all. . . wolves, bobcats or Otherwolves, it didn't matter. I'm certain their society had the same issues ours did, in different ways.

Grant actually gave a bitter laugh, unusual for him. "I don't think the slums ever had much honor to begin with. It's just where you live when you're very, very poor. Which is a good portion of Arbordale right now."

"What sort of things do your kin assume about people from your village?"

Grant's ears tipped back and he gave a sigh. "You're very curious about this."

"You're very uncomfortable talking about it," I pointed out. "That's unusual for you. I want to know more about you, and so far all I've seen is what you want to show me, which I can only assume is your best face. This is new."

"Damn, you're on to me," the husky said with a dry chuckle, leaning down near a wet, mossy divet in the ground to check presumably for tracks. He paused for a moment there, then looked back to me. "You want to know more about me?"

I thought I sensed a note of hope in his voice, but I was in a good enough mood to humor it. "I do," I said, with a shrug. "Is that so wrong?"

"No, not at all. I just wish you were asking about something else," the man said, rubbing his hand over the scruff of his neck. "But. . . alright."

I looked to him expectantly, honestly curious what he was going to tell me.

"I grew up in an area called Debriss."

"It sounds eloquent," I remarked. But then, most of their language did, to me.

He laughed. "No, ah. . . it's a dark bit of humor. It means 'wreckage' in Kadrushan. It's a squatter town built into the ruins from where the port took bad cannon-fire in the war, and they never rebuilt. I guess. . . none of that makes much sense to you. Nevermind. It wasn't a good place to grow up. If my men knew where I came from, they'd. . . have a lot less respect for me. Well. . . Magpie probably wouldn't care. I knew a lot of rats growing up."

"Why?" I asked, confused. Amongst our tribes, we would have considered a group of people eeking out a life in inhospitable terrain to be formidable foes, if poorly-supplied for a long war. But the northern savage tribes were some of the most fiersome in combat, and they were often at the edge of desperation and starvation. It made them terrifying in the winters when they were seeking food.

"The slums have a poor reputation," he said, "and so do the people in them. For crime, disease, a lack of education. . . filth."

"Is that why you stay so clean?" I asked aloud, without meaning to.

He just smiled. "Thank you for noticing."

"So. . . your family is still there?"

"Not in Debriss," he clarified, straightening up and apparently giving up on his track-finding for the moment. "I was able to purchase a small property in Everly, which is. . . mildly better. All the buildings there are in one piece. For the most part. And it still took almost five years' wages from my time with the Wardens."

"Can't your family work, too?"

"A few have them have started to," he nodded, "my sister Hannah is apprenticing with a seamstress, and Aden's enlisted. I'm glad we're not at war."

"What about your parents?" I asked before I really considered it. But Grant had to be a man nearing thirty, to be in a commanding role of so many men. It was highly likely. . . .

"They've been gone for quite some time," he said with enough ease that I knew I hadn't hit a raw nerve. "It's just been my siblings and I since I was thirteen."

"I think I see why you're not pursuing your own kind," I murmured.

"Hm? Oh!" He actually laughed. "No, I'm. . . I've spent enough of my life raising pups already. I don't need to do it all over again."

"How many?" I asked.

"Seven brothers and sisters," he said with a sigh. "Two girls, five boys, and me."

"The way you speak about them. . . you were the eldest?"

"I was," he nodded. "But my sister Hannah was only two years under me. She always helped a great deal, and she's been watching over the remaining young ones since I left to work. She wasn't able to really begin apprenticing until the youngest grew of age enough to watch after themselves. So she's shared in the hardships as well."

"Thirteen's young to be the man of the house," I said, looking out over the vast clearing again.

"We always managed. I would rather have had them all in my life than not," he said, his eyes staring off across the clearing now, too. But while I was searching for Ransom, his gaze seemed more distant. "You hold yourself to a higher standard when so many look to you. My brothers and sisters would all. . . mimic me. Doing the silliest things. If I didn't wipe my feet coming inside, or. . . if I cursed, or did something foul. You learn to watch how you act, when a bunch of pups are tailing you, trying to be you. You can't be cruel to people who offend you. . . or they'll be cruel. You can't be angry and bitter, or they'll grow into angry, bitter people. You have to be a good person so they want to be good. Even if it's very, very hard sometimes."

"Grant, everyone gets angry, desperate or bitter sometimes," I said softly. "You can't expect yourself to be perfectly amicable every hour of the day."

"I have my moments," he murmured, "I just. . . try to be alone, when I have them." He looked to me at that, with a soft smile, "There's nothing wrong with trying to be a good man as often as you can. I think most men can. I just. . . had a lot of pressure to do so. In the. . . form of lots of little. . . blue eyes."

"Oh gods," I said with a chuckle, "that would be torment. There can't possibly be seven of you, somewhere."

A piercing noise suddenly cut through the air, and both Grant and I whipped our heads around towards the shrill sound, ears perked. It sounded like a sharp whistle.

A moment longer, and it came again, and then I was certain.

"That's Ransom," I said, taking off. Grant followed.

His long stride might have availed him better on the trail where the terrain was cleared, but here in the brush and the broken, rocky peaks, I was able to cover ground at nearly twice the clip as the husky, who clambered far less gracefully over the larger boulders.

I was first to see the silhouette of the coyote standing in the distance, in a clearing not unlike the one we'd just come from, where the ground was soft and wet still from the melted snows. Much to my relief, he seemed alone, not locked in combat with an enormous lion monster. He was kneeling near an area in the clearing when I first came over the ridge, then stood as he presumably heard me.

I bounded down the ridge towards him, then trotted into the clearing, the light of the moon catching in the man's eyes. When I drew near, I could tell he was frustrated. But there was also a spark of something else there. . . something feral and obsessed, and it was disturbing.

"Did you find something?" I asked, taking a few moments to catch my breath. I heard Grant coming down the ridge behind us, less than gracefully.

"I did," Ransom growled, stepping aside.

I looked past him, and then down to where he'd been kneeling. And I could hardly believe what I saw.

An impression in one of the only areas of muddy earth the thick rock cover up here allowed. . . a large impression, nearly a foot across. And it resembled a feline paw.

I crouched down beside it, reaching down and running my pawpads over one of the ridges of what had to be the beast's pawpads. It was massive. I could hardly imagine the creature that must have created it.

"Holy hell," Grant said from beside me, huffing as he too caught his breath. He crouched down beside the pawprint as well, looking it over. "No wonder it spooked Marybell."

"She was here," Ransom rumbled with a twitch of his muzzle, "only-"

"The mud here's hardened," I murmured. "This was made some time ago."

Ransom nodded. "So she could be anywhere by now."

I could hear the rage simmering right beneath the surface in his voice. I stood slowly, then turned my eyes towards his. "Not anywhere, Ransom," I insisted. "If she was here a few days ago, and Grant's man just saw her tonight-"

"Then, she's probably hunting in this area," Grant supplied, snapping his fingers. "If these beasts are anything like Dyre. This is probably her territory. At least for now."

"She could move on," Ransom said, shouldering his rifle. "And I don't have a trail."

"Where would she go, Ransom?" I pointed out. "She's probably gone north because of the melt. She needs to be where there's snow on the ground most of the time, right? Because of her hide?"

"There ain't no game up the Spine," Ransom said, spitting on the ground.

"Right. Which means she has to come down to hunt."

"We're about as close to the Spine here as you can really get and still find game," Grant agreed. "I'd wager if she's here now, she'll be here again. Besides," he looked up over the nearby mountains, "we haven't seen the last of the winter. This's been a warm week, but the old girl's got one last gale in her, for sure. Too early in the year for her to quit."

"You can't go up the Spine, right?" I asked Ransom.

He paused for longer than he rightfully should have, but at length, he blew out a breath. "No," he muttered.

"So no matter what, you'll need to catch her when she comes down to hunt," I reasoned. "If she's hunting in this area this season, it might be your year. Why is this bad news?"

"Because Puck ain't lettin' me stay!" the coyote belted out, angrily, shocking even Grant. "Tha'little bastard said he's leavin' if I don't come back tonight! What'm I supposed to do?! I ain't ever been this close before, and NOW he ties my bloody hands?!"

"I'm confused," Grant murmured, but I just put up a hand to shut him up and glared at Ransom.

"Listen," I said authoratively. "If she was here now, she's probably here for the season. She'd have to go down further towards the valley to move to a different region."

"She's done it before," the coyote insisted, "every damned time I think I'm gettin' close!"

"Weren't you the one who told me hunting was about patience?!" I demanded. "Ransom, you don't have a trail. You don't have the supplies. And you'd be going it alone, because neither Puck nor I are going along with something so foolish. Besides, Grant's right-"

"I am?" the husky wondered aloud.

"There are going to be more storms," I said insistently. "The winter's not over yet, we've just got a break in the weather. The pass could snow in again. You can't really be sure it's safe up here until we know for a fact the winter's over. Wait. Come down to the valley with us, do whatever it was you intended to do. . . sell your wares, get drunk, buy women. . . just don't do THIS until it's the right time."

The coyote went silent, clearly irritated, but I knew by the look in his eyes that he understood the logic in my argument. I went for the final push.

"And when you're ready to return here, resupplied and prepared for the hunt. . . Puck will come with you. Trust me," I said, reaching out and gripping his shoulder.

The firm grip seemed to snap him out of his thoughts, and he looked back at me for a few long moments.

"You think so?" He asked at length.

"He responds well to forethought and common sense," I said with a sigh. "And he knows this is important to you. If you'd listened to him in the first place and not gone out in the middle of the night, he wouldn't have even been so damned angry. He just doesn't like it when you fly off the handle and act. . . crazy."

"Said the girl who sees talking birds," the coyote grunted.

"Now I'm really confused," Grant murmured from the background, but at this point, he seemed to have accepted the fact.

"Just come back to camp," I pleaded, dropping my voice to a more concerned, and less demanding tone. "We all need to get at least a little sleep. Please, Ransom. If you won't do it for me, do it for him."

The coyote spent a full minute or so in thought, his expression as always, difficult to decipher. But I knew what he was feeling. It was the same torn sensation I'd grappled with every time I'd looked up over the peaks during the winter and known that somewhere, Methoa'nuk was making his escape from me. Fighting with myself not to do something mad and leave my companions, trek up over the mountains and pursue him to the ends of the earth, no matter the insane risks or dangers.
But if I'd done that, I would be dead now. The valley winter had nearly killed me. . . the mountains certainly would have.

I'm not sure what it was inside him that won out in the end. I'd like to think it might be his regard for Puck, but in reality, he may just have weighed his actual chances of hunting the beast unprepared and found them lacking. Either way, at length, he simply nodded.

"Fine, let's get back," he said flatly, beginning to turn to head back towards the trail. He seemed to think better about it for a moment though, and turned around to look to me, speaking lowly, "Could you. . . maybe give me some breathin' room on the road?"

"We'll take our time getting back," I said with a nod, releasing his shoulder.

"Good. Fox and I need to talk," he muttered. And then he did head off, making his way back towards the trail and, presumably, wherever his horse was tied.

I glanced back at the husky, finally. Grant was just scratching his chin, then he gave a long yawn.

"Hell of a night," he murmured.

"Let me explain-" I began.

"It's alright," he said, waving a hand, "I know about the tradition. 'Spirit brothers'," he said, annunciating the Katuk words, since they were clearly a term he didn't often use. "Something like that, right?"

"I. . . what?" I blinked. I'd heard the words individually, but never as a title like that.

"Am I wrong?" The husky asked inquisitively. "Laesom was so sure."

"The wolf?" I queried, more and more confused.

"Well aren't they. . . ." Grant stumbled through the words, clearly finding this awkward to talk about, ". . . I don't. . . know what you'd call. . . two men. . . uh. . . lovers? I don't know if 'mates' is appropriate. . . for what they do. . . ."

"You know?" I asked, shocked.

"You know, you might not give me very much credit for it, but I am an investigator," the husky said, almost sounding hurt.

"But they've been so-"

"Well Laesom was fairly certain, and I trust his instincts," Grant shrugged. "It's of no matter. But we do like to know a bit about the people we travel with, Shivah. Especially if they're hiding something."

"The men know?!"

"No, no," he insisted, "listen, it's not a problem. It's no one's business but theirs and we won't be traveling together for long, anyway. I don't give a damn, I'm fairly certain Laesom doesn't care. . . and if Connall picked up on it, he's keeping his muzzle shut. Good ploy with the fox and you sharing a tent, though. The boys are having a lot of fun with that one."

"Ugh," I crinkled my nose in disgust. "I don't want to be the subject of your men's wild fantasies."

"I'm personally enjoying that they're not on my case about my making eyes at you anymore," he remarked. "But really, like I said, there's nothing to worry about."

"None of this. . . bothers you?" I asked, carefully.

Grant made an odd face at that, then glanced aside and cleared his throat. "Well we were taught it was. . . wrong," he said, politically, "but other than it making me mildly. . . uncomfortable. . . I try not to pass judgment on what people do when they're alone. There are plenty of actually despicable people out there hurting other people, and I'd rather keep my disdain for them."

I gave him a long look following the honest answer. It actually didn't surprise me to know this bothered him on at least some level. It would have surprised me more if it didn't. It probably wasn't for the reason it had bothered me, but then, I wasn't a man. And Grant didn't know the real issue with the relationship was as mundane as one partner being a complete shit to the other at times. But if he could admit he didn't entirely accept what Ransom and Puck did, and still not hold it against them. . . that was enough.

"It's apparently common enough amongst the wolves that Laesom knew of the 'practice', if that's what you want to call it," Grant said. "And like I said, it's not my business." He gave a sudden grin. "To be honest. . . it rather relieved me. I thought you might have been harboring something for one of them."

I had to laugh, and we both turned and started trudging back towards the trail, in the direction of where we'd left his horse. "Only frustration, irritation and a strengthened tolerance for needless drama."

"That bad, eh?"

"You have no idea. I don't ever want to hear that women are too emotionally complicated from a man, ever again."

"If it's any consolation," the husky said with one of his infamous resolve-melting smiles, "I'm a very simple man."

I glanced up at him, not fighting the smile nipping at my muzzle. "It's refreshing," I admitted.

We walked together in silence for a few minutes, until rather out of nowhere, Grant asked, "So. . . you talk to birds, do you?"