Wolves of the Beyond 02 - Shadow Wolf

bloodlines of the packs were kept healthy. In the very rare event a malcadh survived, he could return to the clan but only as a gnaw wolf, the lowest-ranking wolf of all.
    Faolan had not died. He had been saved, rescued from the river by a grizzly bear, Thunderheart. For almost a year that he and the grizzly, his second Milk Giver, had stayed together. Then at the end of winter, she had died in the earthquake. Through the spring and most of the summer, Faolan had lived as a lone wolf. But less than a moon cycle ago, driven by loneliness, he had returned to the wolves. “Returned”—an odd word, for he had never lived long enough with the wolves to truly belong. And now, every minute of every day, he was reminded of that fact. Even the young pups in the pack constantly made fun of him. “Say ‘caribou,’ Faolan!” they would demand. Then when he said it, they yipped gleefully. “Sounds like a bear! Doesn’t he?” They could tease him all they wanted because he was a gnaw wolf.
    Lord Bhreac, leader of the Eastern Scree Pack, was approaching with his lieutenants. Quickly, Faolan tried to assume the posture of submission that was required whenever a pack member approached, particularlyhigh-ranking wolves such as the pack lord. Before his belly had touched the ground, Faolan felt a sharp blow to his flank. Not quick enough , he thought.
    It was Flint, a lieutenant, who had hit him and sent him sprawling. Flint was now coming back for a muzzle grab, one of the most humiliating and painful chops that could be delivered to a gnaw wolf.
    “Don’t waste your energy, Flint,” Bhreac barked. “Let him be. You need your strength for the byrrgis .”
    What about me? Faolan thought. Don’t I need my strength as well? He consoled himself with the thought that he would no longer be invisible when they saw him run in the byrrgis .
    Bhreac paused and turned to look back at Faolan to make sure that he was following with his tail tucked between his legs in the slouching posture of a low-ranking wolf. “And remember. The bones will be big so we’ll see how well you have learned your gnawing!”
    Yes, the gnawing, but what about hunting? Faolan wondered. He could do so much more than simply gnaw a bone from which higher-ranking wolves had already stripped the meat. They would see what he could do on this byrrgis . They would see him run. The females of the pack were said to be the fastest runners, faster than males. But they’re not as fast as I am , Faolan thought. And whatwolf could walk on its hind legs? Thunderheart had taught him to do that. They hadn’t seen it yet. Faolan wasn’t sure if this peculiar talent would be necessary in a byrrgis , but if so—well, that would stop the other wolves in their tracks!
     
    It was a fact that gnaw wolves were objects of general abuse. Marked by deformity, they became living symbols of the threat of bad blood, and it was as if the clan was somehow cleansing itself of taint through maltreatment of the gnaw wolves. Much was required of these gnaw wolves beyond serving as scapegoats. They were expected to learn to gnaw bones with a proficiency and delicacy that no ordinary wolf could match, keeping the chronicles of the wolf packs and clans of the Beyond on the bones they carved.
    As he was being led away by Lord Bhreac, Faolan caught sight of a she-wolf full-bellied with pup.
    “She’s rather late in the season to be with a pup, is she not, Flint?” commented Bhreac.
    “Indeed. And so often those wolves who carry late give birth too early. Let’s hope she doesn’t go by-lang with fear that it’s a cursed one.”
    Faolan lagged a bit behind and turned to look at theshe-wolf. There was a nervous light in her eyes, and he saw another she-wolf with two pups diverge from her path to give the expectant mother a wide margin. One of the pups started to veer back, but his mother gave him a sharp cuff and growled, “Get away from her!”
    Faolan’s heart went out to the she-wolf. He hoped she hadn’t heard, but he could tell from the way her head drooped that she had. It would be a wonder if she did not go by-lang . A cursed one, they called the unborn pup, Faolan thought. As I was. As I am! A malcadh. Had his first Milk Giver gone by-lang ? Had she run off into the deep away to keep him safe from the laws of the clan?

CHAPTER TWO
C HALLENGING THE O RDER
    AS THEY APPROACHED THE BURN, the site of the gaddergludder , where two dozen or more members of the combined packs were