Caution moved behind the wolf’s yellow eyes, as Sharn forced himself to edge out of the dense shade and stand in a spear of sunlight like a target.
Robin’s face lit hopefully. She reined up and jumped off her wagon onto the narrow, unnamed trail. The horse snorted and pawed the needled ground cover nervously. They were deep in The Shades, surrounded by a jumble of birdcalls, clacking and purring, and the trickle and dripping of water over rocks and moss. Green tangled growth and shadows were everywhere. It was cool and moist. Visibility was diminishing quickly as the late daylight faded. Robin looped the reins around the seat of the driver’s box and glanced around.
Every shadow seemed designed as a hiding place. Every sound was a mystery. She had no time to care. She raced back to the spot where she had seen the wolf.
Sharn was still there. He stood in a shallow mossy glen surrounded by walls of fern. He backed away and pushed through the ferns, stopping once to look back at her.
Robin followed him through the tangled growth and across the glen.
They emerged from the ferns to face a shoulder-high ridge of ground. A gnarled oak grew out of the ridge, casting black shadows on the thick moss covering it. A big-boned, limp hand stuck up out of the deep moss. Thick spider trails of blood ran down the back of the hand, across the little finger and dripped off a torn nail.
Robin climbed hurriedly up onto the mossy ridge, then stopped short. Gath lay on his back, half buried in muddy, torn-up moss. His mud-streaked face was the color of a peeled potato. She kneeled and pressed an ear to his matted chest. His heartbeat was faint, but he was alive. She removed the muddy moss. The deep gouges in his ear, jaw and neck had clotted. His chest and legs were bruised and cut, and there was a deep wound in his side. It bled slowly but steadily.
She removed her waterskin, uncorked it and rubbed some water on his lips. He opened his mouth slightly, enough for her to squeeze a few drops inside. Sharn licked his bleeding knuckles. She gently took the hand away from the wolf’s tongue whispering, “Just let me have it for a moment, then you can have it back. We have to be a team now.”
Robin, holding Gath’s right wrist with both hands, sat down and placed her feet against his left side. She pulled until her body weight almost levered him onto his left side, then he began to sink back. She struggled, pulled with her arms and pushed with her legs. Blood pumped from his gouged knuckles, flowing into her grip, and the wolf growled. She did not look at the blood or the wolf. She grunted and strained, levering him over until he finally dropped facedown on the moss at the edge of the ridge.
The impact drew a groan from him, and he tried to rise. But the effort made the dark fluid pump fast out of the deep hole under his armpit, and he collapsed again.
Robin mumbled urgently, “We have to work fast. He’s losing too much blood.”
Sharn gave her no argument.
By tearing away ferns and plants, Robin made a path back to her wagon which was wide enough for the wagon to pass through. She untied the reins, then led the horse down the path. The wagon crushed down shrubs and bounced over boulders, then pulled alongside the ridge. The flatbed was about two feet below Gath’s body.
Flushed from the effort, Robin climbed onto the rise, sat down beside Gath and placed her feet against his right side with her knees drawn up. She gathered a deep breath, then pushed with all her strength. He did not budge. She crawled over him and carved away the earth under his body with her knife and fingers until he sagged slightly. Then she climbed back to his other side and tried again. She was gasping and sweat soaked. Suddenly he rolled away and crashed on his back with a heavy thud, to lie still on the wagon bed. His eyes were open. All they showed was disinterest, like a dead man’s eyes.
Robin whimpered fearfully, got on her hands and knees and looked down at him. She could smell-but only vaguely see-the fresh blood welling from his wounds. Night was taking command of The Shades.
Robin quickly gathered a pile of leaves and sticks, and piled them on a ridge beside the wagon. From one of her leather pouches she removed a warm folded lump of moss, unfolded it, and, taking brass tongs from her satchel, removed a glowing coal and placed it on the kindling. She blew on the pile until it broke into flame, then returned the coal to its pouch. From green palm leaves and pitch, she made a torch, lit it and set it in an embrasure on the wagon so that it cast light over the wagon bed. By this time the fire was blazing. She placed her dagger in its flames.
When the blade was red-hot, she pushed Gath’s arm across his chest and without a blink placed the flat of the knife against the hole under his armpit. It sizzled, and he cried out hoarsely, then collapsed. She reheated the knife then pressed it against the wound in his side. Smoke incensed with burning flesh swirled into her face. She turned her head away, but not her eyes. With those two wounds closed, she went to work on the one in his thigh. It persisted in bleeding after her first attempt, so she sealed it twice.
When she finished, night had defeated day. The world around her was black, and she felt suddenly cold and sticky.
Sharn growled, a low, almost inaudible, warning.
“I know,” she answered. “We don’t dare stay here.”
Robin climbed up into the driver’s box and started to flick the reins, but shuddered instead as a searing bolt of fear shot through her stomach. She looked around frantically. There was no sign of the trail, no indication of which way she came. Then she saw the wolf waiting up ahead and gasped with relief. Fear subsided, and she called to him, “I’m lost. It’s up to you now.”
Sharn trotted slowly forward, moving west, deeper into The Shades.
Robin twitched the reins, and the horse obeyed. Blindly they moved into dense shadows. After forty paces the horse balked. Robin tied off the reins and jumped down from the driver’s box. Plucking the torch from its embrasure she hurried to the horse. Moving her hands gently over his eyes and around his muzzle, murmuring steadily, she led the animal forward casting the torchlight on the trail ahead.
It flickered on Sharn’s yellow eyes, then the eyes vanished and were replaced by a brush of tail.
As Robin followed the wolf, she glanced into the shadows. She could not see them, but knew the night creatures were there, watching silently. The great horned owl, the jackal, and the bat-winged moth. She wondered if they had seen such a sight before, and if they would remember and someday tell of it. Of the night when wild wolf led tame girl.