Sunrise

Chapter Sixteen: Hiraeth

She awoke, startled, with the distinct sensation that she could smell everything around her.

Not just the smoky scent of campfire, nor Gurgi's wet-wolfhound reek. Everything. The layers of leaf-mold, aging richer the further down it went; the trail of the mouse that had walked over it hours ago; the musk of a bear den over the next rise; the warm, tangy blood of birds asleep in their nests above: the dampness on the air; the dried sweat on her companions' bodies and the anxious thread of hunger on their breath. It was overwhelming, and she sat up, gasping for air.

Like a dream vanishing upon waking, the sensation fled, leaving her with only the sharp, wild awareness of its presence - a presence that now flitted and flashed in her mind's eye, drawing her gaze to the trees around them. It was early morning, chill with a grey mist that subverted any attempt to see more than a few yards. No movement, no sound broke the shreds of fog, and yet somehow, she knew...they were watched.

Yet she did not feel very frightened. The presence that had touched her mind was one of intense curiosity, of wary alertness, but no predatory intent...at least, at the moment. She squinted into the mist, straining to see, her scalp crinkling, but saw nothing, and said nothing, even as her companions stirred and rose and made preparations to pack up the camp.

It did not take seeing the gray shapes flickering among the trees or hearing the occasional bark and yip to reveal what she already sensed. The wolves trailed them through the woods throughout the morning, slinking always out of bowshot range. Taran looked back often, his brow furrowed.

"As long as they don't come any closer we needn't worry about them," he said once, but doubtfully, as though he were asking for confirmation.

Fflewddur shrugged. "Oh, they won't attack us. Not now, at any rate. They can be infuriatingly patient if they know someone's wounded. For them, it's only a matter of waiting." He glanced meaningfully at Gurgi.

"Well, I must say you're a cheerful one," Eilonwy answered. "You sound as if all we had to look forward to was being gobbled up." He looked at her in surprise, and she frowned a little confusedly at her own odd defensiveness. Yet she could not make herself believe that they were endangered by the creatures that trailed them. The occasional flashes of consciousness that brushed hers still conveyed nothing but wary alertness, as bracing as a breath of winter air.

"If they attack, we shall stand them off," Taran murmured. "Gurgi was willing to give up his life for us; I can do no less for him. Above all, we must not lose heart so close to the end of our journey."

"A Fflam never loses heart," Fflewddur pronounced, " come wolves or what have you!" But he took a firmer grip on Melyngar's bridle, and his long strides were as swift as he could make them.

Much good it did them. At midday, while they stopped to rest, he admitted that they were getting nowhere, pushed too far east, walled in by cliffs too rugged to breach. Eilonwy, rubbing her sore feet, hungry and rather cross, grumbled at this. "The wolves didn't seem to have any trouble finding their way."

He looked a little indignant. "My dear girl, if I were able to run on four legs and sniff my dinner a mile away, I doubt I'd have any difficulties either."

She had a mental flash of Fflewddur, long nose to the ground and limbs akimbo, scrambling on all fours through the underbrush, and giggled in spite of herself. "I'd love to see you try."

Taran straightened up from the stream where he'd bent to drink. "We do have someone who can run on four legs!" he exclaimed, "Melyngar! If anyone can find their way to Caer Dathyl, she can."
Fflewddur snapped his fingers. "That's it! Every horse knows its way home! It's worth trying — we can't be worse off than we are now."