Runt (7 page)

Runt raised his head slowly. "Not you, too," he said. "Are you waiting for me to leave so you can feast?"

"Of course not." Raven ruffled his feathers the way he always did when he was offended. "I have some loyalty, you know."

Runt snapped at one of the endless flies
buzzing around his head, then settled his chin once more across his brother's still body. The warmth of Helper's life had slipped away.

"Did Bider bring down the moose?" Runt asked.

"Bider is still running," Raven replied. "Trying to bring down that old bull alone, even injured as he is now, is going to keep him running for a long time."

Alone
. The pack should be with him. Why had his father given up so easily? Was it true that he was afraid? Runt wanted to ask Raven, but he didn't. He knew that Raven, for all of his constant quibbling with King, would only defend his father.

In the distance, voices rose. Runt lifted his head. His family had begun a howl, a song of Helper. His life. His death.

Runt pointed his nose at the fading sky, ready to join the song, but no sound came from his throat. He lowered his head, laying it across his brother's body again. After all, no one had asked him to join them.

"Aren't you going home?" Raven asked. "Or are you going on with Bider?"

Runt considered. Those were the choices. Go home, where he had no gift to give—not even his voice—or join Bider on an impossible quest.

Surely, no one missed him at home. And the flight he had taken off the old moose's leg had taught him how little use he would be in this hunt.

He closed his eyes.

When he opened them again, Raven was gone. The light was gone from the forest, too. Helper's body was stiff. The vultures sat like stones in the tree just above them, waiting. No doubt other forest creatures waited, too. Not to mention the hordes of insects and the worms that had already begun silently to feast on the young wolf's body.

The gift of Helper's life was returning to the forest. Back to them all. As young as he was, Runt understood that. He understood, too, that there was nothing more he could do here.

He rose and began plodding deeper into the forest, following the trail left by the wounded moose. Whether he could be any help in the hunt or not, at least he would find Bider.

Despite the hours that had passed, the trail was easy to locate. The enormous moose had crushed bushes, wounded trees, dripped blood. And so Runt put his nose to the ground and followed. His shoulder was sore from the kick he had received and had stiffened during the time he had been lying with Helper, but he ignored the pain and concentrated only on the trail.

He would help Bider. He would help Bider bring down the moose. And when they arrived home to the pack, their faces bloody, their bellies full, dragging a chunk of meat between them for the rest to feast on, they would both be heroes. Even he, Runt, would be a hero.

As Runt loped along, he remembered the sensation of sailing through the air, thrust by
the moose's kick. He was lucky, he knew, that the kick had only thrown him, not crushed his skull or broken other bones. But even remembering this, he stayed on the trail. He needed food. They all needed food. And with food would come a place in his family.

Runt finally found Bider lying in a patch of morning sunlight by a small stream. The moose Was nowhere in sight.

Runt approached slowly. "I came to help," he said.

"Help?" Bider snorted. "Some help you would be. It's your father I need. Your father and Hunter and Helper and—"

"Helper is dead," Runt interrupted.

"Silver," Bider finished, as though Runt hadn't spoken. "Silver is a fine hunter. I would be glad to have her at my side."

Runt sat down next to the white wolf, just sat there and watched the stream burble past.

"We could have taken that moose, you know," Bider said at last. "If we'd only stayed together, we could have run him to the ground and taken him. Our bellies would all be full by now."

"I know," Runt said.

"He's a coward," Bider added.

"Who?" Runt asked. But of course, he knew that, too.

"Whooo?" a voice repeated from a spruce tree near by. "Whooo?" Owl with his endless, foolish questions.

In any case, Bider didn't bother to answer either of them.

When Bider and Runt arrived back at their new site, the pack had scattered over the hillside. There was very little activity. Even the pups lay still, not pouncing on one another or wrestling or investigating whatever moved in the grass. King was in his usual spot. As Bider and Runt stepped into the clearing, King's gaze slid across Runt and settled on the white wolf. But what those amber eyes saw, Runt could not even guess. Did his father know that he had followed Bider, ready to help him take the wounded moose for the family?

Silver lifted her head to acknowledge Runt's return, but she didn't rise to welcome him. Not even to give him another wash.

Runt told himself he didn't mind. He certainly didn't need bathing. Still, something
inside him ached in a much deeper way than the sore muscles left by the moose's kick.

Bider stalked to the edge of the clearing and threw himself down. He lay there briefly, then rose to choose another spot. Then another. Finally, he marched over to King.

"You can't expect me to do it all alone," he said.

King lifted his head. "Do what alone, Bider?"

"Feed this family."

"No," King replied solemnly. "I can't expect you to do it all alone." And then he settled his chin on his paws and closed his eyes.

Bider, clearly angry, turned and strode into the forest.

That night Runt awoke to find Bider standing over him. "Come with me," Bider said. It was an order.

Runt rose. "Where are we going?" he asked, even as he fell into step behind the white wolf.

"You'll see," Bider replied in his usual brusque way. Then he added, mysteriously, "You want a chance to make your father proud, don't you?"

A thrill ran along Runt's spine.
How will I do that?
he wanted to ask.
How will I ever do that?
But he knew better than to ply Bider with questions.

Raven appeared before them, balancing on the low bush just ahead.

"Guess what, Raven," Runt called. "I'm going to make my father proud."

"Be careful" was Raven's only response. And he stretched his wings and flew upward.

Runt watched Raven disappear beyond the thinning treetops, then turned his attention back to the white wolf. He didn't need Raven's warning. He knew all about being careful. Porcupine had taught him that lesson very thoroughly. But what, exactly, should he be careful of?

He followed Bider's silent steps through the forest. The night was still except for a light breeze rattling in the trees, the gentle swish of the fallen leaves underfoot.

When they arrived at a clearing Runt had never seen before, Bider squeezed through a wire fence and stopped abruptly. Runt crawled on his belly under the bottom wire and joined Bider.

"See," Bider said, and Runt did, indeed, see. The only problem was that he had no idea what he was seeing. The light from a half moon glinted off the splotchy hides of a herd of large black-and-white creatures. Larger than deer, not as big as moose. Succulent, even soft looking. They grazed the way moose and deer did, but Runt had never seen
anything like them. Their smell was vaguely familiar, though.

"I've told King about them, but he won't listen," Bider said. "He refuses even to come with me to see."

"What are they?" Runt whispered. It was hard to believe they were real. Despite the fact that he and Bider were standing right out in the open, in full view, the creatures continued to crop grass as though they had never heard of wolves.

Even as Runt asked, he caught another scent. Not just the smell of living meat, but something more. The odor of the humans the creatures belonged to.

"They're called cows," Bider replied. "I thought you'd know all about them. Their owners are such good friends of yours."

"Friends?" Runt's legs had begun to tremble the moment he had distinguished the human scent, and he tried to steady himself. In the brief time he had been with the humans, he hadn't grown accustomed to the stink they left on everything. Now he had to struggle to keep from turning and running blindly back into the forest.

"I thought if you saw them, if you went back and told him, King would listen to you."

Runt was too astonished even to reply. Why would Bider think his father would listen to
him?

One of the spotted black-and-white creatures was grazing close by, and she looked up, seeing them apparently for the first time.
Now,
Runt thought.
Now. She will understand her danger!

But she didn't. She simply stood there and gazed in their direction, her dark eyes placid and incurious. Runt had never had such an odd encounter. When a wolf sees a moose or a deer, a kind of contract passes between them. The creature says,
Yes, you may take me
or
No, this isn't my time,
but always the prey understands. These cattle had no comprehension at all. Why, even foolish Rabbit knew better than to stand and stare into the eyes of a wolf!

If he had remained with the humans, let them care for him day after day, would he, too, have grown so stupid? The thought made Runt shudder.

"Let's get a talisman to take back to your
father," Bider said. "Maybe that will convince him." As he spoke, he loped lightly into the open grassy field, passing the cow who had been watching them and coming up behind another. This one went on grazing—didn't even take a few steps to move away—and when Bider got close, he jumped up and grabbed her dangling tail in his fierce jaws.

The cow's attention was caught, finally, with her tail. She bellowed, kicked, began to run. Already, though, Bider had fallen away. But he hadn't released his grip. He dropped to the ground with the cow's long, fringed tail sliced off neatly and clamped between his teeth.

The cow kept running, bellowing. Several others in the herd galloped a few clumsy steps to move out of the way of the running one's clamor. Then they went back to their grazing, as though a large white wolf in their midst, holding the severed tail of one of their own, was nothing to be particularly concerned about.

The wounded cow came up against another fence and stopped finally. She mooed
pitifully, dripping blood from the stump where her tail used to be. Most of the rest of her kind still ignored her.

Bider turned and trotted across the pasture toward Runt, grinning, still holding the creature's tail in his teeth.

"Here," Bider said, dropping the tail at Runt's feet. "Take that home to your daddy. Let him see how sweet it is."

Runt sniffed the tail. It smelled rich and warm. It smelled, in fact, exactly like the meat he had been offered when he'd been with the humans, though he hadn't been ready to eat then. But there was no question it would be tasty. And a whole herd of these creatures—not one of which had the wits or strength to fight off a single wolf, let alone the pack—stood here before them.

His family was through being hungry. That was certain.

And Bider was going to let him present the gift of this easy food to his father!

Runt picked up the sweet-smelling tail in his teeth.

What will friend Raven have to say about this?
he wondered.
What silly warning will he give
now? When the time comes, won't he be glad enough to share a good meal?

Provider, Runt decided as he trotted beside Bider, the tail clamped tightly in his teeth. That would be a good name. It had a much better ring than Runt.

"No!" King didn't even bother to look at the gift Runt had dropped at his feet. He said it again. "No."

Runt was too stunned to speak, but he didn't need to. Bider spoke for him.

"Just take a taste," he whined. "These creatures aren't far away. And they're so stupid, they don't even know enough to run ... or to fight, either. They just stand there waiting to be eaten. You've never seen anything like it."

With a nudge of his nose, Runt pushed the richly scented tail closer to his father.

King ignored Bider and spoke directly to Runt. "Haven't you learned yet? This meat isn't for us. It's been touched by
them.
" And with that he walked away.

Touched by them.
The phrase sent a chill through Runt's heart. If being touched by
humans could ruin perfectly good meat, what had it done to him?

Runt turned helplessly back to Bider. Surely, he would explain that the meat was good, tell King again how easy the beasts were to kill. But the white wolf, clearly disgusted, had walked away, too.

Runt picked up the tail again and stood holding it. He shook his head to swing it back and forth. He could see the other pups watching him, but no one took his invitation to play.

Runt carried his prize off to his private place beneath the maple and gnawed it down to a collection of small bright bones.

When the sun settled below the tips of the trees, King rose and stretched. "It's time," he called to his pack. "Come."

"Past time, if you ask me," Bider muttered, but, as usual, King chose to ignore him.

Runt lifted his head, watching.

"Come," King said again, and this time his sweeping gaze took in all four pups. Apparently, they were to be a regular part of the hunters now.

Once more Runt remained silent through the howl, but he took up his accustomed place in the rear when the pack set off in their usual single file.

The wolves trotted at a steady pace for a couple of miles before they flushed a doe and her fawn. The two crashed away through the underbrush, outrunning the
wolves almost before the pack could begin the chase.

The pack would have had a better chance if they could have gotten the pair out into the open. Or onto a frozen lake if the weather had been colder. Runt had heard his father talk about chasing prey onto the lakes in the winter, because the ice put animals with hard hooves at a disadvantage. This day, though, with the ice not yet formed, with the fawns grown strong and confident in their stride and everyone well fed at the end of a lush summer, the wolves could gain no advantage.