Through Wolf's Eyes (10 page)

"My lord," Race offered haughtily, still indignant,
for the earl had yelled at him for scaring the visitor away, "from what
we've seen of the ruins the fire happened ten or so years ago. There
are saplings growing out of the burned houses that are eight years old.
The extent of vine coverage speaks for a long passage of time as well."

"Would you say," Earl Kestrel asked Derian, "that young woman you saw was as young as eight?"

"Definitely not, my lord. She had breasts, small as
they were. I don't want to be accused of raising hopes, sir, but she
could have been right about the age of your niece, the Lady Blysse."

"Dark hair, dark eyes?"

"Yes, sir. That is, her hair was not quite as dark as yours or your cousins'."

Before your hair started turning white that is
, Derian added mentally. A small grin at the corner of Ox's mouth told him that his friend was sharing the thought.

"Prince Barden," Jared said with infinite caution,
"had dark brown hair. Eirene's hair, however, was pale blond and the
child, as I recall her, took after her mother."

"Children often darken with age." Earl Kestrel
dismissed the difficulty with a casual wave of his hand. "And this
young woman has probably not bathed except by accident."

Derian was offended, as if the visitor were his personal creation rather than his accidental discovery.

"She smelled clean to me, my lord, slightly of sweat
and there was definitely the stink of the hide she wore about her, but
she looked as if she knew how to wash."

Earl Kestrel shrugged. "Good. It would be a great
embarrassment to bring King Tedric his granddaughter and have her
ignorant of bathing."

So that's how it's going to be
, Derian thought.
We have found Lady Blysse wandering wild in the forest. Now we will restore her to her family. To the king and the Kestrels
.

Thinking of the lively curiosity in the dark eyes, he felt oddly sad and suddenly immeasurably older. For the first
time, he understood just how politics used some men and women—and how it consumed still others.

"If she lost her parents when she was young," Doc
mused, thinking aloud, "it may explain why she did not speak to Derian
and Ox. She may have forgotten how to talk. Such has happened to
hermits or shipwreck survivors who are alone for a long time."

"If so," again the earl dismissed the difficulty as trivial, "she can be taught to speak again when we have her in our keeping."

"And how," Race asked deliberately, "shall we catch
this wild child? If she is so wood wise, we could search until winter
comes and never find her. I could set snares for her perhaps or dig a
pit trap . . ."

Earl Kestrel frowned, considering. A voice so rarely
heard as to be almost a stranger's spoke from the shadows at the edge
of the fire.

"If my lord would permit," Valet said, lifting his traveling iron from the shirt he had been pressing, "I have a suggestion."

"Speak," the earl commanded, as surprised as the rest of them.

"It would be impolitic to have Lady Blysse tell her
grandfather that she had been trapped or snared or handled in any rough
fashion. I suggest that we convince her to trust us. Derian Carter said
that she admired his shirt, did she not?"

"She did," Derian agreed, leaning forward with
eagerness, grateful beyond belief that Valet, at least, seemed to see
their quarry as worthy of human consideration.

"We have spare clothing among us," Valet continued,
tactfully avoiding direct mention that his master possessed three
changes of clothing to each one carried by the other members of the
expedition. "Make her a gift of a shirt. A man's wool shirt with a long
tail would cover as much as the hide Derian described."

"Yes! Let her be clothed from my wardrobe," Earl
Kestrel proclaimed, apparently mentally drafting a portion of the
speech he would make before the king. "Moreover, since she is timid,
let the four of us depart at dawn, even as we did
today. Perhaps if Derian and Ox alone are in the camp, she could be lured close once more."

"Depart?" Race asked. "Where to?"

"Perhaps there are other survivors," the earl said.
"We can look for sign of them. Certainly we could hunt and so augment
our larder. It is early for the fattest meat, but surely a man with
your talent can find something worth hunting."

A slightly mocking note in his voice revealed that
Earl Kestrel had been well aware of the guide's tendency to flaunt his
skills.

Race nodded, reluctant to be away from where the real
hunt would be going on, but acknowledging the wisdom of his patron's
plan. Besides, he couldn't have won an argument on this point in any
case.

Earl Kestrel rubbed his hands together in satisfaction.

"Our plan is ready, then. I suggest that all but the
first watch get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long and busy day for us
all."

Derian, who had the first watch, began his slow
perimeter patrol. When he passed the place where the wild visitor had
first emerged from the woods he felt a thrill of anticipation. Would
she return tomorrow? Would he be able to convince her to stay?

In the darkness he heard a chorus of wolf howls and
knew that somehow they held the answer to his questions in their clear,
lonesome cries.

F
IREKEEPER'S COURAGE HAD RETURNED
to her by the middle of the next morning. A full belly and a warm
spring day didn't hurt either. This combination, which tended to make
the wolves want to nap, had always stirred her desire to explore.

"Sleep then, Brother," she said, stroking Blind Seer's flank. He looked particularly handsome, for she had pulled
out
all the clumps of shedding fur. "I will go and visit the two-legs
again. Elation said that all but Fox Hair and Mountain have gone
hunting."

"Will you come back when they sleep?" the wolf asked without opening his blue eyes.

"I will, but I hope my courage does not fail me and I
can remain long enough to look closely at the others when they return
from hunting."

"Good. I will sleep then but not so deeply that I will fail to hear your call if they give you any trouble."

Firekeeper ruffled his fur and departed. She made a
fast trail going to the two-legs' camp, aware that she felt a strange
anticipation.

This is like but not like finding the first strawberries in the spring
, she thought.
Like
but not like returning to a sheltered place in winter and knowing that
I can make a fire and get warm. I don't think I have ever felt like
this before. It is interesting and not unpleasant
.

When she reached the trees curtaining the edge of the
Burnt Place, Firekeeper exchanged greetings with Elation, then made
certain all was safe before going out into the open.

All seemed much as it had the day before. Fox Hair
was seated on the ground doing something with one of their soft hides.
Mountain was shifting burned wood, bringing out things from time to
time and setting them on a cleared space.

There were fewer bones now, she noticed. Most of
those that were not burned entirely must have been found by now. She
wondered, as she never had wondered before, what those other things
might be. She herself had found odd things in the grass when the Ones
had brought her here each year, but never before had she wondered about
what they were.

Almost as if her impulse guided her feet, she emerged
from the forest and trotted over to the heap of rubble. Mountain saw
her, swallowed a shout, then held completely still. Fox Hair looked up
from what he was doing and, as on the day before, rose very slowly.

He smiled at her. She was fairly certain, at least,
that this was a smile, not a baring of fangs. Since she had no idea
what her own smile looked like, she couldn't be completely
certain, but Fox Hair did nothing aggressive so she decided the expression must be a smile.

Again he held out his arms, twisted them so the palms
were upraised and open. She imitated the gesture. They stood like this
for the long circuit of a robin's song; then Fox Hair lowered his arms
slowly.

He said something to Mountain, who answered him in
what Firekeeper was certain was a deliberately hushed voice. Nothing
they said made any sense, but there was intelligent purpose behind the
sounds.

Now Fox Hair crouched and lifted something from the
ground near him. Dangling it between two hands, he held it out to her.
The wind caught it, making it flap, but Firekeeper stopped herself in
mid-bolt. This flapping thing had offered her no harm!

Seeing that she had been startled, Fox Hair carefully
spread the thing flat on the ground between them. He said something,
plucking at the soft hide he wore, then pointing to the thing on the
grass. Cautiously, Firekeeper extended her hand and touched the thing,
feeling the same delightful softness that had met her hand the day
before.

Again Fox Hair pointed to his upper body, then, in
response to something said by Mountain, he tugged his garment clear
from his body.

The skin below, she noted, was lighter than that on
his face. It was also rippling with cold, as if the warm spring air
were as chill as that of midwinter. But these were things she noted in
passing. With deliberate motions, Fox Hair was showing her how his
garment dropped over his head, rested on his shoulders, fell down over
the torso . . .

She yelped in pleased comprehension. Two quick tugs
on her belt freed her from her own cumbersome hide. The Fang's Mouth
held between her teeth, she bent and lifted the soft thing from the
grass. Finding the opening at the bottom proved a bit difficult, for
the soft stuff clung together, but she growled at Fox Hair when he
moved as if to take it from her.

Once she found the hole at the bottom, she groped and located the hole at the top. There were holes for the arms as
well.
After some fumbling and getting tangled and nearly panicking and nearly
having to drop the Mouth so her head would go through the head hole,
she pushed head and neck and arms all through their appropriate
openings.

The garment was light, surprisingly warm, and
slightly prickly, like the leaves of a mullein plant in late summer. It
felt infinitely better against her skin than the hide had done. Over
the animal smell, it was scented with lavender and thyme.

Fox Hair extended an arm toward her and she backed
and growled. This was hers now. She was not going to let him take it
away. He lowered his arm quickly and she saw that he held a thin strip
of hide, much like the one at his own waist. Understanding suddenly
that he had been offering her a belt, she snatched it from him.

As she looped it about her waist, threading it first
through the Mouth as she had learned to do long ago and finding the
task much easier with this even piece of leather, she noticed that Fox
Hair was staring first at her, then at his hand as if amazed that she
had taken the belt so easily.

She grinned at him. Clearly he had never dined with
wolves! Only the fastest and fiercest ate from a kill. Even the meat of
her own hunting would be stolen if she wasn't careful. She'd learned
that young enough.

Fox Hair answered her smile, but she thought there was something of fear and uneasiness in the tang of his sweat.

W
HEN THE REST
of the
expedition returned later that afternoon, Derian was pleased to see
that their wild visitor, although clearly nervous, didn't flee.

Lightly balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to
run if anything startled her, she watched the four men file into the
camp. Race carried a couple of rabbits, Valet a string of
brook trout. When they passed her, Derian noticed again how she sniffed the air, taking in their scents.

Clad in her new shirt and nothing else (he couldn't
help but remember his embarrassment when she had stripped right in
front of both him and Ox) the young woman looked more like an untidy
curly-haired urchin than the wild thing who had first come into their
camp. With that strange surge of possessiveness, Derian realized that
he was glad that Earl Kestrel's first sight of her would be this way,
rather than draped in that awkward hide. He would treat her better,
maybe even respect her a little.