Читать книгу White Feather 3-Book Bundle - Jennifer Dance - Страница 25

The ravens looked down at the four-legged trapped in the snare. They bobbed their heads, watching keenly for signs of life, balancing hunger against the fear of approaching a living predator. One made a brief sortie, but when the trapped animal flailed its head and snarled, the bird quickly retreated to the treetop, landing clumsily alongside its companions, pitching them back and forth.

Suddenly their attention was diverted to the small Upright who had scrambled to the top of the rise, and with arms held out like wings was flying toward them, weaving in and out of the trees, all the while emitting a high-pitched, bird-like call. When he headed toward the dying animal, they attacked him. Red Wolf covered his head with his hands and ran.

A ferocious snarl stopped him dead in his tracks. Ahead, a wolf drew back his lips in a vicious grimace. The wolf looked so different from the animal he knew well that for a fleeting second the boy didn’t recognize Crooked Ear.

“I’ll get you out,” he murmured, not knowing quite how and squatting a safe distance away to think. The wolf whimpered then licked and nibbled at the noose of snare wire that had all but disappeared into the swollen flesh of his front paw.

The boy traced the snare wire back to where it was secured to a metal peg embedded in the ground. He tugged, but it was anchored firmly and refused to give under his weight.

Crooked Ear was calm now, and the boy moved closer to get a better view. He stroked the big wolf’s head and spoke gently. “I have to get that wire off. If I can loosen it, you’ll be able to slip your paw out. Then you’ll be free.” Although he spoke the words with confidence, he was scared that pain would make the wolf attack him.

“It’s going to hurt,” he said, lightly touching the wolf’s leg and slowly moving his fingers down to the injured paw. The animal flinched but didn’t pull away. The boy spoke softly as he loosened the snare. Crooked Ear growled and flung his head toward the child, his fangs barely concealed behind grimacing lips. Red Wolf leapt out of the way.

Yelping in pain, the wolf pulled back his lips and delicately grasped the wire with his front teeth, teasing and loosening it until it lay harmless on the ground. Red Wolf, who had been watching so intently that he had barely drawn a breath, let out a gasp of relief. He wanted to throw his arms around the wolf and hug him, but he kept his distance, watching Crooked Ear gently lick the wound. Finally, with a heavy sigh, the wolf stretched out on his side, exhausted.

Red Wolf thought about the flat slabs of granite that sloped gently into Black Lake and wondered if Crooked Ear could get there and stand in the water to soothe his paw and drink. The boy remembered that it was not too far away, close to the stream that he had recently walked through.

He looked for the trail, but there was nothing but forest and bush. Panic rose in his throat. He ran back and forth, looking for any small sign from Mother Earth that he had passed that way. He collapsed at Crooked Ear’s side and rested his head on the wolf’s shoulder.

“We’re lost,” he said. “And I don’t know how to help you. I’m sorry. I should have picked up Father’s trail on the far side of the creek, but I walked upstream. I should have known that was wrong, especially when I reached the beaver pond, because when I made the trip with father we didn’t pass a beaver pond! And then I followed the ravens, and I flew down the hill like a bird, forgetting to look around.”

Scorn tainted his voice. “I was playing … like a child!”

A voice spoke to his understanding. If you had not done those things, you would not have found me, and I would have stayed in the trap until I died.

The boy buried his face in the warmth of the wolf.

Crooked Ear struggled onto three legs and slowly limped into the bush. The boy followed, ducking under low boughs and using his hands to keep twigs and branches out of his face. The wolf’s slow three-legged gait allowed him to keep up, and as long as they were together the boy felt calm. But after a while Crooked Ear broke into a hopping lope and vanished.

“Wait for me,” Red Wolf pleaded in panic. He forced himself to calm down and do what HeWhoWhistles would do: he searched for paw tracks, snapped twigs, bruised leaves. Slowly he followed the wolf’s trail through the dense forest. Suddenly blue sky greeted him and great slabs of granite sloped toward Black Lake. Crooked Ear was standing in the water, drinking. The boy felt a wave of relief.

Even when he raised his head, Crooked Ear remained in the water. Meanwhile, Red Wolf searched for a strong stick and sharpened it to a point. In quick succession he speared three fish. He tossed two to Crooked Ear, who swallowed them whole, but he cooked his fish over a fire.

Red Wolf didn’t notice in the disappearing light that grey clouds had gathered. He curled up close to the fire, the rabbit skin jacket covering him from head to toe. Crooked Ear limped in three tight circles and flopped down beside him. He licked his paw a few more times then tucked his nose into his chest, wrapped his thick bushy tail around his body, and went to sleep.

Not long after dawn, Red Wolf was awakened by the complaint of a chickadee that plumped up its feathers against the brisk air. Red Wolf sat up, surprised when a light dusting of snow slid from him. He looked for Crooked Ear, but the wolf was gone. He called out urgently, and a black-tipped nose poked out from under the snow. Crooked Ear heaved himself up and made a half-hearted attempt to shake before flopping down and lethargically licking his wounded leg.

Red Wolf was dismayed. The leg was swollen to twice its normal size. Anxiety tensed his stomach into a knot. He looked at the sky. Light snow swirled through the treetops and he shivered. I must get home … the weather is getting bad … I have no food. But Crooked Ear can’t walk! If I go without him, what will become of him? I can’t leave him.

He rebuilt the fire and sat by it until his shivering stopped. He speared more fish and held one under Crooked Ear’s nose, but the wolf wouldn’t eat. He tried to build a shelter, but cutting through the spruce boughs was too difficult. He crawled under the low-lying branches of a dense stand of cedars. The thick foliage kept most of the snow from the ground, and it smelled good. Crooked Ear limped after the boy. The child gently stroked the wolf’s head. His nose was hot. The boy knew that fever often killed children. He presumed it killed wolves, too.

He fingered his pendant and prayed to the spirit wolves he hoped were still guarding him. “Help us, please.”

He didn’t know what else to do.