Lady Ilena by Patricia Malone

days of spring are a good time to travel, as dawn comes early and the long twilights will allow me tocontinue well into the night hours. I am almost halfway up the western range of mountains when I stop for the night.
    Machonna stays close to me; he is used to forests and fortresses, and the stark emptiness of the mountain landscape makes him nervous. After I water and feed the horses, I share bread and meat with him. Our tiny fire sends shadows over the cliffs, and the wind howls around the peaks. Despite my brave words this morning in the barn, I've never made night camp alone before, and I am glad that Machonna is with me. I sleep well and don't awaken until dawn.
    It is not hard to get an early start when the only preparation is to eat a little bread and harness the horses. We make good time over the mountain range and pass below Dun Dreug in midafternoon; I look up with longing at the fortress on the hilltop and wish that I could find a welcome there with hot food, a soft bed, and the companionship of friends. But I remember the way Chief Perr walked past me without speaking at the Ford of Dee and put the thought out of my mind.
    I push us on as long as it is light enough to see the trail, so we make camp well west of Dun Dreug. We should reach the north-south trail early tomorrow morning. By nightfall it has begun to rain, and I find shelter in a clearing with a rock overhang that protects Machonna and me. I tie the horses nearby under thick evergreens that provide some cover for them.
    Machonna is happy to be in a forest and dashes around our little clearing several times before I call him.
    “Come, Machonna! Come here.” He obeys reluctantly and puts his nose on his paws to watch me start a fire under the overhang and tend to the horses.
    When I awaken sometime in the night, he is gone. I whistle for a time, then settle back onto my bed of damp pine branches. Hunting dogs are trained to range widely and return to their master; surely he will find his way back.
    I am awakened again just as darkness begins to weaken in early morning. The horses are pulling against their reins, bending the saplings that I secured them to and bumping into each other in their alarm. The din sounds like the kennels at Dun Alyn when the dogs fight over their food, but there are no kennels here in the forest.
    “Machonna!” I can't tell if any of the yelps and growls are his. “Machonna! Come!” I scoop up the casting spears that I keep beside me at night and race toward the noise.
    As I stumble over tree roots and through underbrush, the yelps turn into howls of pain. I burst into a clearing in time to see three wolves vanishing into a thicket. Machonna, blood streaking his fur, tries to follow them, falls, then raises himself and tries again.
    “Machonna! Wait!” He turns and stumbles toward me for a few steps, then collapses in a trembling heap. When I reach him, I can see that the blood comes from a wound onhis left shoulder. The leather collar protected his throat, but there is a slash from the shoulder joint to his knee. His brown eyes fix on my face as if he's pleading with me to stop his pain.
    “All right, boy,” I say. “It'll be fine. Let's get you back to camp.” I drop the spears and hoist him up. The jostling increases his pain, and he whimpers, but he does not resist as I get his front feet over my shoulder and lock my arms under his back haunches.
    The big pack that Spusscio prepared contains what I need. I wash out Machonna's wound with a big splash from one of the aleskins and split a linen towel into strips for a bandage.
    When I've cut as much hair away from the wound as I can and washed it out again, I pick woundwort, which is growing near the trail, and pack it into the gash, then wrap the bandage firmly around his leg. He has stopped struggling to get up, but he wheezes and whimpers while I work and falls asleep as soon as I finish.
    I had hoped to be on my way north toward Dun Lachan soon after sunrise, but