Wolf-speaker by Tamora Pierce Page A

she ordered as she crawled into it. “Not one thing, understand? We’ll talk later.”
    Don’t be upset, Fleetfoot advised, curling up on the girl’s free side. Brokefang knows what to do.
    â€œThat’s what frightens me,” Daine muttered, and her eyes closed.
    As she slept, she dreamed. Ma tended flowers, golden hair pinned up, out of the way. A man with antlers rooted in his curly brown hair watched. Leaning on the garden wall, he was a handsome, muscular creature dressed in a loincloth and nothing else. When he moved, hints of green showed in his tan skin. Her mother looked at him, shading her eyes against the sun as her lips moved. The man laughed silently, white teeth flashing. Except for thelack of sound, she could have been someplace real, watching from the garden gate.
    A bluejay screamed,
Thief, thief!
The dream ended and Daine opened her eyes, feeling very confused. A year before shed had a similar vision of her mother and the stranger. What did it mean? Were the vision, and this dream, Ma’s way of saying she was at peace in the Realms of the Dead? What part did the horned man play? From all Daine had heard, the Black God’s domain was reserved for humans, and he was no human. For that matter, what she had just experienced was too vivid for a dream—her dreams were bits and pieces of tales that seldom made sense and never felt real.
    I
say she ought to do it, if she is Pack. The snarling voice was Frostfur’s. Why leave the pups to search and fail to bring down game four times out of five when
she
is here?
    Daine sat up. The pack stood around the chief wolves, in the middle of the lead-the-hunt ceremony.
    Call the game to us, Frostfur ordered, coming over to Daine, ears forward and tail up, to force the girl to submit to her as other females of the pack did. Bring us a nice, fat buck. Why must we take chances when you are here, getting your smell all over our camp? Either you are Pack, and that means you obey me, or you are not.
Obey!
    â€œNo,” Daine said, meeting the females eyes squarely.
    Frostfur’s hackles rose. She drew her upper lip back, baring strong teeth.
    Daine crouched. “Do I tell you how to deal with the pack females?” she demanded. “I let you rule your way, and
you
do not tell
me
how to handle other People. If you weren’t a wicked, nasty vixen, you never would’ve mentioned it.”
    Frostfur growled, a low, grating noise that started at the bottom of her deep chest and forced its way through her throat.
    â€œDon’t make me show you what else I learned while I was away,” Daine warned. “You won’t like it.” Her eyes locked onto the wolf’s, and held them.
    The moment stretched out like the tension on a bowstring. Frostfur broke the staring contest first. She wheeled and plunged into the reeds. Hidden, she called to Brokefang. She will turn on us!
    The pups whined, looking from Brokefang to the plants that hid their mother. It’s all right, the pack leader said. Go on. We will bring you meat.
    Leaper yipped in apology/agreement, and followed her mother. The other pups and the pack females did the same. Fleetfoot was last. She turned in front of the reeds, looked at Daine, and whined.
    The girl smiled. “It’s all right,” she told the brown-and-gray female. “We’ve just never gottenalong.” Fleetfoot yipped in sad agreement, and vanished into the reeds. “I’m sorry, Brokefang.”
    He came over and licked her cheek. Will you hunt with us?
    Daine smiled. “No, thanks. I have provisions.”
    Is there cheese? Short Snout wanted to know. Russet says it tastes good.
    â€œI’ll give you some when you return,” Daine promised. “And you’ll get round and fat, like a sheep.” Short Snout bared his teeth in a silent wolf laugh.
    We hunt, Brokefang said, and trotted off, the other males behind him. Soon the adult females, with the