Sephtis

20. Living with the wolves.

An intense green screen of leaves conceals us from the herd of moose. We are on the edge of a grassy plain, a long way from anywhere I have ever been before. Beyond the plain are hills, blue and purple in the twilight. The moose are grazing, their young frolicking among them, upwind, and unaware. It is a large herd and I look at Kavah, wondering when he will begin the chase. Zahar has gone ahead, hiding somewhere in the long grass past the herd. Kavah knows where she lays in wait. He will chase the moose towards her, and when he tires, she will take over the hunt and make the kill. Wolves, even those with the great size of Kavah and his pack,  can run fast only in short, powerful bursts, and healthy moose outrun them easily; hence this planned attack, this magnificent work in complete unison. I know their ways well now, I have lived with the wolves for near two handfuls of days. But the thrill of the hunt is always fresh, always new.

My heart is pounding, and the muscles in my legs twitch, made to taunt by the suspense of the looming chase. I glance at Amitz, the strange black wolf who is close to my side. Since he joined the pack he has hardly let me alone, always close, always watching. Amitz's eyes are half closed, watching me sideways his tongue lolling out of his mouth as he gives me a comic, person-like  grin. Shaking my head with wary amusement I turn to Kavah, his eyes too, are half closed, though not looking at me, they are seeing through the herd, seeing through the grasses, to where Zahar hides, sensing her readiness. Soon some unseen signal will fly between them, and in perfect unity they will begin the hunt.

There is a blur in the grass beside me. Kavah is away, running fast and low beside the trees. I sprint after him, feeling my wings ripple and boil under my skin, longing to be free, it has been to long since my last flight. Amitz is running beside me, the moose lift their heads, are motionless for all of one moment, then flee. Their hard hooves thunder upon the earth in a sensational rhythm. Out in the open runs Kavah, not too fast, and a little behind the herd. Then, gradually, he moves up beside the fleeing forms, spurring them towards the open plains, to the place where Zahar must lie in wait.

An age, it feels, we pursue them. I pant, breathless, overpowered by this relentless urge to hunt. I am appalled, terrified, elated. I fragment, becoming the savagery of the wolves, the terror of the hunted moose; I am driven, living and dying, weak and strong. I forget who I am, and I become the hunter, craving for blood and craving for the kill.

The herd is spreading out. The little ones are stumbling, lagging behind; the mothers hesitate, their eyes rolling back in fear. Kavah barks and snaps at them, dogging flashing hooves, as the herd leap on, across the plain. The wolf is inexorable: he runs on and on, until at last he tires. Instantly a shadow, arrow-swift, leaps from the grass ahead of him, and the desperate moose, pursued anew by Zahar, power on. Kavah follows, loping easily, leaving the hunt to his mate. At last a single moose, no longer able to keep up the pace, drops back. Kavah increases speed, Amitz whines from somewhere beside me. Together Kavah and Zahar move in for the attack. Their quarry is a young cow, but not a healthy one. It sweats in terror, and fatigue, and its veins stand out along its throat. Its nostrils are distended, hungering for precious air. It stops, and Zahar, too, slows. I know what goes between them, for I have witnessed it in other hunts. It is a moment, a look of understanding between the hunter and the hunted. The look lasts no longer then a heartbeat, but seems tireless, and encompasses a covenant as ancient and powerful as the hunt itself. In this moment death becomes a choice, a sacrifice. The wolves acknowledge this, and I have seen them abandon prey at this very moment, if the covenant is not made. But this time it is made, and the young moose falters, falling. In an instant Zahar has broken its neck.

I sink into the sun warmed grass,my lungs on fire and near bursting. I am not far from where the wolves have taken their prey, I hear Amitz panting heavily as he lays in the grass nearby and I hear Kavah tearing at the moose, and I hear the snapping of bones. The smell of blood is on the wind. I lie on my back and close my eyes. Slowly I relax, and my breath comes easier. Sweat trickles down between my breasts and my legs are aching. I tremble, thinking of the awful, driving rage to kill and to maim that had overcome me. Is that what the warriors felt like going into battle? And are the men so much higher then the wolves, when swords and hands kill just for pride and greed, but wolves kill for sustenance and life?

The thought of sustenance makes my belly rumble, and I long to return to the den, where I have stored my food. But I must wait till the Kavah and Zahar are satisfied before Amitz and I approach their kill, then Amitz will eat, then we both, shall help them carry home what is left. I am yet to eat raw meat, though I am sorely tempted at times when my hunger is great, for meat is often full of worms, and I cannot bring myself to eat it uncooked. While with Kavah and his pack, I live on eggs, and juicy pig-nuts, and herbs that grow in the forest and around the fallen castle. I stole some honey once, that was high up in a half standing tower, but the bees were viscous with me. I have learned, along with Akar and Orbah, it is better to let bees alone, and we have also learned how to catch fish from the small streams, though the cubs are quicker then I am with their paws, and catch more then I do. They do not share their catches with me, but Amitz shares his. I slice the flesh from the bones, chop it up small and put it in a salad made from herbs and flowers. It is delicious, and I am yet to be ill from eating the fish raw. The herbs help heal the scratches that I get from playing with the cubs.