War-Maker.

39. Curse-lifter.

They saw no sign of Kulali all the way back. Although there was a chance that he might still be alive. Amitz was filled with a certainty that the silver wolf would never be seen again, and he longed to take Sephtis back to their den in the north. And so he had given up hope, for surely, if the youngster was alive, he would have come back to them.

He suddenly called Kulali, leaning back on his haunches and pointing his nose skyward. Howling as though he would conjure the silver wolf up from the last rays of the sun, from the air itself. His deep, echoing song bouncing off tree and rock to resonate off range and sky.

We should have found Kulali, if he were still living, but then if he were dead, we should have found the body. Had the birds heralded the discovery of the silver wolf just for this? Just for him to be killed or to vanish into the land where the wind cries through the rocks?  Why had I led us here? And what if my Amitz was next? That last thought chilled me the most.

The night came, clear and brittle-bright. There was a full moon, and the first frost descending on the land. Miserable and tired they huddled together below the rocky lip when a wraith, looking this way and that, stepped through the starstruck darkness, saw them, and stood still.

I woke with a start, as though the wind had returned my awareness to my body with a fierce blast.

Kulali stood there, his body covered in a multitude of scratches and cuts, some so deep that they were still open and weeping. There was a look about him that told he had been through the sort of ordeal that brands for months, or years, or always.

I lept to his side, running my hands over his ears, his head, tears springing forth from my eyes, telling him more than words how much he had been missed. Amitz woke and came around him with a open mouth smile, his tail wagging ever so slightly in delight and relief.

Someday, perhaps, we would learn what had happened, what fear had stalked Kulali, how The Chaser had died, and how he, Kulali, had succeeded in remaining alive.

Now they slept in a warm circle, but Kulali was alone with his terrible experiences burning as though they were still occurring; the huge monster attacking him in the rain and snow and wind, so close to the edge of the cliff, the lips pulled back exposing tooth and fang, the scream of rage, the wide swinging hands that had missed their grip on his throat as he dodged, but slashed his shoulder. He almost screamed in his sleep as he lived through it again.

These visions had come beating in on him each night since, except the night when the little one had crept away from his mothers side and crossed through a thick of trees to comfort him with his youthful discernible words. Each night he had lived through that sudden onslaught of wind and snow, of fists and claws and teeth, had felt again that he was being driven back over the rocks towards the cliff, his own clawed paws scrabbling for a hold. Each night he felt again his own surge of fury that gave him such unexpected strength to hurl himself at the older being, body fluidly shifting from one skin to the next, allowing his fist to connect so swiftly that The Chaser could not dodge. It was a blow that had maddened the beast so much that he had attacked with a far greater force. Kulali cried out in his sleep with fright as he felt himself falling over the edge of the cliff, hands grabbing at rocks, rocks cutting his soft, fur less skin, bruising, scratching, battering him as he came to rest, unbalanced on the little platform with that vast drop underneath.

The wind, the wind swirling with snowflakes, whirling round and round with such fury and force, was above him, enveloping the top f the cliff where The Chaser had nearly gone over the edge too.

I woke to Kulali's yelp of fear and I placed my hand atop his silver head again, unknowingly just like the small child had done.

Kulali had almost wondered if they were real when he saw the woman with her small bundle, and the child clutching to her skirts. True, he had seen her in the glade, kneeling and pleading, and again when he was wandering dazedly near flat moon lake. Now he still wondered if they were real - except for the memory of the soft touch of the child's hand - because the woman in the blue dress had never come close to him again, just seemed to keep him in sight. She, perhaps, expected someone else.

When Sephtis was touching him, brushing her fingertips against his ears and forehead, the terrible dreams of fighting and falling over the cliff did not recur - she really was the Curse-lifter.

In the morning Amitz determinedly set forth for the north, the sun reflecting off his marred hide, the golden rays making his scars shine like molten silver. He simply called for them to follow him home, and they did.

It would be quiet a while before Kulali would want to go off on his own again. He was lame and scarred all over, and he looked so strange and so strained, even as he walked upon his two legs - conversing with the girl and the man with the black braid, who constantly shifted from skin to skin, either to hold hands with his mate or to run ahead, catching small game for them to snack upon.
To the others it was as if he, Kulali had been touched by something the others did not understand - deep fear, perhaps, or was there something else in the wild wind and snow on the high, lonely mountain?

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So that is the end of War-Maker, book two of the Wolf Warrior series.  Thank you all so much for reading this book and I hope y'all stick around to continue the series alongside me. 
:)
Cheers everyone.