“Not understand.”
Auron lowered his head to the level of the wolf’s. Then below it, fighting a throbbing hurt in his neck. The wolf brought up its head and stood taller.
“We make pack. Pack has two. You leader,” Auron said. “I Auron. I do as you say. I promise this.”
The wolf looked at him and sniffed at the scent of dragon blood. Its remaining ear flicked up and tail gave the tiniest of wags. Auron gave a hint of a prrum in response, though in his pain, the noise didn’t come naturally.
“This story to sing from highest hill. Good Aer . . . Aur-ron. Auron. But you kill leader. With me-people, mean you leader.”
“I bad leader. Not know this land. No, me not wolf . . . you-people, I mean. You leader.”
The wolf’s tail wagged once, and it brushed Auron’s face with the side of its own. “Settled. I Hard-Legs Black-Bristle of Dawn Roarers. Must leave this stink-of-blood behind. Come.”
Auron followed.
Auron picked up wolf speech easily. It was enough like beast speech for him to understand most of what Blackhard—as the pack-familiar was rendered—said to him; each day he spoke it better. The hardest part was the phrasing required when the pack member asked something of its leader. Reading and imitating the body language that often passed for simple words took him no time at all to pick up.
“Goodwolf if stop by lake, try for fish?”
“Good if wolf stop by the lake and try to fish,” Blackhard corrected, with a nip in the air just in front of Auron’s nose. That habit took some getting used to.
“Good if wolf stop by the lake and try to fish,” Auron said again, and Blackhard smiled in assent. Wolves were smilers, but Auron didn’t have the muscles to imitate it properly. Auron took in the banks of the lake in a slow examination. A cluster of man houses stood on the other side, hardly visible through the morning lake mists. Men fished here, too. Satisfied, Auron slipped into the water and floated upside down, nostrils above water and eyes beneath. He caught a bottom-feeder for himself and brought one back for Blackhard.
“Fish is a good stink. I like to roll in the leavings. Confuses the prey,” Blackhard said. “Don’t know what it would take to cover your stink-of-dragon. Skunk, maybe. You are only creature whose front end smell worse than back.”
Auron knew what a skunk was, and didn’t care to try rolling in one. He couldn’t help it that eruptions of gas from his fire bladder startled Blackhard.
The howling at night fascinated him. The wolves told each other stories, claimed territory, negotiated hunting rights, and prayed to the Moon for game and healthy offspring all at the same time.
“White-Tooth Winter-Nose heeeere! Forests thick with deer, the Fell Runners thank you, O My Mooooooon!”
“Thank thee, Moooooooon!” others in White-Tooth Winter-Nose chorused.
“My pup Deep-Eyes Feather-Tail made his first kill todayyyyyyyyyy, O My Cousiiiiiins!” a faraway voice called.
“Honor and Praaaaaise!” a distant pack answered.
Blackhard could stand it no more. He stood, crossing his front legs on a stone to elevate his head. “Hard-Legs Black-Bristle, last of Dawn Roarers heeeere! I hunt with an Outsider, one who spared my life and the life of my pack, and asked to hunt with meeeeee. This Outsider is a drake named Aurrrrooooon!”
“Whaaaaaaaat?” came many cries from afar, as the forest wolves took in the news. Consternation broke out as others spread the word.
“You call your name, Auron, there’s a good wolf,” Blackhard said.
“You mean howl?”
“Yes. You speak the tongue well enough. Just make it good and loud.”
Auron put his stumpy front legs on a fallen tree trunk and extended his long neck to the moon. He inflated his lungs until his body swelled like a puffing fish.
“Auron son of AuRel here!” he bellowed. “I travel to the Eastern Mountains to seek my kind, but for now I hunt with the Dawn Roarers.” It was more of a roar than a howl, but it was no sound a wolf could make.
“We seek free passage though your lands to the Eastern Feeeeeeells, as good wolves in your laaaaands. Pass this neeeeeeews,” Blackhard added.
Their words were spread over the howling network. Auron listened to the wailing cries as tingles danced up and down his spine. He felt very un-wolfish.
“Hanging-Tongue Snow-Crossed of Silent Fangs heeeeeere!” a wolf called from the north. “Three packs now ask for Thing to know this news at midsummer night. We meet at the rock-tree at the three-river falls. If you wish to pass, we must hear this story and smell-hear-see this Outsider in full. Pass this neeeeeews!”
“I wiiiiiiiill as I am a good wolf!” Blackhard answered. “Hard-Legs Black-Bristle of Dawn Roarers heeeeeere! There will be Thing at midsummer night by the rock-tree at three-river falls. Pass this neeeeeews!”