Silver-White (The Great North Woods Pack #1)

by Shawn Underhill

  “Skunk,” complained several voices as Evie entered the circle. “Young. Unwise.”

  Evie gave no response. Her focus was on her leader and his voice.

  “Look,” the white wolf said deeply over all other growls and grumbles, “See what would spy and sneak, claw and kill for the color of your coat.”

  Looking around her as she crept up beside the white wolf, Evie noticed first that two wolves among the circle were bleeding. One was gray and exceptionally muscled, and bleeding badly—Matthew. The other was also gray, but with a touch of buff color fading to a whiter belly—Uncle Earl, wounded less seriously. She could smell their blood. As her eyes moved away from them, a whine of concern escaped her throat. The cat scent came clearly into her nose—their plain scent as well as that of their spilled blood, just as her eyes fell upon their two bodies at the circle’s center. The connection was made. From that moment on, their scent she would never confuse, never forget, as long as her heart still beat.

  Crouched defensively, two cats lay with long tails flicking, hissing and growling in all directions. Their eyes were larger than wolf eyes, round and yellow. Their bodies were long and sleek, and their heads had the look and proportion of cougars. Both of their tawny coats were stained with blood. One was severely injured in several places, and his sides heaved from pain and difficult breath. No remaining fight could Evie see in him; only fear compelled his nasty hissing.

  “Keep your word, White,” the less injured cat hissed to the white wolf. “Release us.”

  “My word stands,” the white wolf snarled. “I delayed for the silver-white.”

  “To see, not to kill,” hissed the cat.

  “You have seen,” answered the white wolf. “And she has seen also. Leave now. Leave fast. Return only for your death, the scattering of your hides and the crushing of your bones. Go!” he finished with a growl that was nearer to a roar.

  The two cats stood together, the severely injured one with great difficulty. Facing south they slunk with low heads for an opening in the wolf circle, leaving the ground where they had rested dark with their blood. Following his injured companion, the defiant of the two turned his head and made one parting hiss, his yellow eyes flashing intently on the young silver-white at the leader’s side. It was a snide parting shot—one that proved effective.

  From across the circle Evie felt his hatred pierce her sharply, both hot and cold at once. Curiosity instantly left her, as did all caution. She had been challenged. The wild pull to answer his threat with deadly fangs far outweighed any thought of danger, and in a fit of instant rage she flew across the clearing to meet him. The cat lowered as she flew, awaiting the chance to slash its razor-edged claws along her soft belly, digging for the vital organs—the prime defense of the cougar.

  As she sprang, the white wolf checked Evie’s hip with his strong shoulder, redirecting the angle of her flight. As she came down in a half spin, awaiting the feel of solid ground against her feet, in the same instant a wolf from the far side of the circle leapt forward, meeting her with a powerful shoulder that sent her whirling mid-air. In confusion she fell and landed facing the same spot she’d leapt from. The close snarl of the white wolf held her to the ground with quivering legs.

  Eli had watched Evie’s eyes when the cat turned to her, and he had seen her intent even before she sprang. From the far side of the circle he had met her at a slight angle, put her down hard and then spun to face the crouching cat as other wolves closed at his sides and formed a wall. “Go!” Eli growled in a tone that said clearly, I would kill you gladly if not for my leader’s decree of mercy.

  The cat made no response. As defiant as he had been, he seemed to recognize death when it drew near. The line had been drawn; he had come dangerously close to crossing it. A single scratch on the young silver-white would have resulted in many jaws shredding him to pieces even as his heart still beat. The old White would not stop them then. So lowering his head, the defeated cat slunk off without another sound, joining his bloodied companion for the long and painful trek home.

  Behind this confrontation, in the clearing at the wolf circle’s center, the young silver-white had her belly to the ground, cowering under her grandfather’s bared fangs. Instinct told her that if someone other than herself had openly defied him—had attacked the cat against his orders—they would be bleeding now just as the cats bled. The white wolf’s muzzle was dark with fresh blood; the rumbling from within him was no show, it was harnessed death screaming to break free of his firm control.

  “Unwise,” he growled. “Three times defiant this day. Test me no more.”

  An outbreak of whistling whines gushed from Evie’s nose and throat. All of her aggression had vanished. Her apology could be no more heartfelt; her shame before the watching pack, no greater.

  “Stand,” ordered the white wolf. “Look on these guards with sorrow and thanks.”

  Evie arose slowly on her shaking legs. Her head felt heavy, her tail was tucked tight; the sharp eyes of the pack pierced her heart as blades. Some eyes were red-brown and dark gold, others faintly green or steely blue. All she could manage under their gaze was to whimper her lament with her own eyes kept low.

  “Two have bled for the love of all,” said the white wolf. “For the honor of name and lands they confronted. At the mention of your coat, one met alone the slashing of claws.”

  “I’m sorry, Matthew,” Evie cried. “I’m sorry all.” And as fast as her nervous legs could carry her, she bolted from that awful place; no wolf blocked her. Making east for the worn trail, she set her will to that familiar path that would lead her north, to the solace of an open sky, with stars reflecting warmly upon Moon Rock.

  At her favorite place in the world Evie stopped, lifted her head to the sky, and wailed her sorrow to the moon and stars. No wolf would answer her, she knew. None would join her and sing along as they had the night before, which she now recalled, as the wolf, with clear, cruel anguish. Not once during her cry did she stop to listen.

  For half of an hour Evie lay curled on the smooth stone, her fluffy tail folded around her as her only comfort. She was hungry and lonely, but most of all she was deeply ashamed. Though she missed the others and wished to be with them—even the company of one would be a joy—her shame was too fresh, too raw to allow her to seek them out. Their disapproval was too awful to face.

  Her heart ached far more than it ever had in her human form. The wolf was a bold and strong addition to her own personality, but its heart pumped blood laced with memory and tradition far beyond that of the human’s. On the opposite end of her potential fury there throbbed a loving gentleness, more sensitive and volatile than that of the most unstable of humans. Her wolf heart would not let her mind forget her wrongs; survival under harsh conditions deemed this a critical necessity for the wild animal.

  In bitter time she sensed wolves approaching. She scented them before she could hear them. Sitting up alertly when they were near, she watched the dark tree line below, making no movements as she saw five figures emerge from the trail. All remained below but the Alpha, who trotted calmly up the hill. As he approached Evie began crying her repeated apologies, holding herself low to the cool stone with a tucked and flicking tail.

  “Calm, calm,” he said drawing near. “All is well. None hold hard feelings but you. Matthew heals as we speak.”

  “Okay? He’s okay?”

  “He will be soon, with a new respect for claws. Stand tall, sweet one; your sorrows pierce my own heart. Punish yourself no more.”

  In one beat Evie’s heavy heart was flooded with new life. She sprang up straight and promptly bowed with her forelegs out, her tail whipping behind her. Then she stood straight again and nuzzled her head along the white wolf’s scruff and shoulder. In her whines there was still a hint of remorse, but more so she expressed great love and gladness—the human equivalent of mixing tears with laughter.

  “Too much, too soon,” said the white wolf through a very low sound. “Many young wolv
es, even I, have done far worse. Forget your trouble, my dear. These cousins and friends admire your great spirit and now desire your company.”

  “Really, really, really?” she panted. She was shaking all over.

  “Really,” said the white wolf. “Go now. Show them your true speed. Set sadness to the wind. Love life; the night is yours.”

  In human terms Evie’s response would have been something like, “Yay, yay!” In the wild, old language she whimpered and grumbled her glee, nuzzling the white wolf in a fit of excitement. “And you?” she asked. “And you?”

  “Other matters call me,” said the white wolf calmly. “Soon we will run together again, but not tonight. Run along; your company waits eagerly.”

  Evie rubbed the white wolf once more and then skipped down the hill to the four wolves waiting with whirling tails and excited, open-mouthed faces. She met them at the tree line in a happy ruckus.

  Eli and his wife, Sarah, Evie had known from a distance. Both were gray with dark saddles and light bellies; Sarah was beautifully light-faced and slightly fluffier-coated than Eli. The others were non-blood pack members, who she learned were brother and sister, David and Emmy. David was a rich brown color—almost German Shepherd-like—dark-saddled, with lighter, buff-colored belly and legs, and red-amber eyes. Emmy was very light gray with silver highlights, white-bellied and white-faced, with brilliant ice-blue eyes. Her build was sleek and beautiful like Evie’s, fast-seeming even when standing still.

  After a short exchange of greetings Evie recognized the girl within the she-wolf. In fact it was not their first meeting; Emmy was a slightly older friend of Erica’s from the small home school circle, and in more recent years had been the outgoing cashier at Ludlow’s Convenience store. The happy recognition excited Evie all the more. She could not hold still after the greetings, and was greatly relieved when she heard Eli speak.

  “Run with us,” he said. “To the east is good land. Dark woods and wide trails. We waste time here.”

  “Safe trails,” Sarah added quickly. “Our favorite!”

  “Our favorites,” agreed David and Emmy. “Come on!”

  Evie looked back to the white wolf once more. He was descending the hill calmly. She yelped her goodbye, turned quickly on her hind feet, and sped off with the young wolves in chase of Eli in the lead.

  The small pack yelped its elation, panting their laughter as they sliced between trees and leapt dark obstacles with ease. To show off to one another whenever the chance arose was a great sport among them, and although Evie had no clue where she was, she could not have been having more fun. This was real cross country. Even the most majestic of deer would have looked silly beside the long jumps of her and her companions.

  After a time of this playful maneuvering they picked up a trail. The trail was actually an old logging road, used now by snowmobilers. Leading northeast toward Maine, it was wide and smooth, nothing short of a wolf highway—at times they could run five-wide with adequate space between them. On this trail they quickly reached full speed, with “Run!” as their battle cry, and soon Evie was a full body length in the lead, following the trail without concern of destination. For the next few miles the other wolves gave their all to match her pace. But try as they may, even the nimblest of them, Emmy, failed to overtake the silver-white speed demon.

  Evie let up only upon hearing a warning from Eli.

  “Slow. Here we turn,” he said.

  The area was dense with tall evergreens. As they trotted from the ghost light of the trail, breathing happily from the run, the woods became very dark under the cover of the heavy trees. With racing hearts, in excitement they all began talking together.

  “Balsams,” Sara said with a wolf smile.

  “The hotel,” Eli added.”

  “Guests,” David barked.

  “We scare,” Emmy whimper-laughed. “We scare them!”

  “We are allowed?” Evie questioned, ears pricked, her head tipped sideways.

  “Only with voices,” Eli said.

  “Only voices,” others repeated.

  “Stay hidden,” Eli told her.

  “No show,” Evie nodded.

  “They pass on the trail below,” her cousin explained. “Follow my lead.”

  The four wolves quieted and followed Eli under the dark evergreens until a trail came into view. Beyond, through the woods, they could see the many lights of the large resort. A few dozen yards from this trail they all crouched under the foliage, whispering with whines, waiting for the first clip-clop sounds of the horse-drawn hay rides full of resort guests to pass by.

  “I feel bad,” Evie laughed. “Scaring poor people.”

  “No,” Sarah said. “They love it.”

  “Love it, love it,” the others agreed.

  “Why else take a hay ride?” Eli said. “A thrill for them, harmless fun for us.”

  “Harmless fun,” the two females assured her. “No harm.” And then in turns they all began telling her stories. Evie lost track of time listening to their accounts of past scares and adventures. In hushed tones they laughed and conversed, sometimes crouching and sometimes rolling onto their sides and stretching. For how long this went on, Evie lost track of, until the first signs of a horse-drawn-sleigh reached their ears.

  “Listen,” David said with his dark ears perked.

  “Horses,” Eli said. “I smell them too.”

  “The wind shifts,” Sarah said. “Ready?” she asked Evie, crouching close beside her.

  “Yes,” Evie laughed low.

  Suddenly one of the horses neighed nervously from the trail. The wooden wagon shook as the horse stomped nervously, and the guests on board made various sounds of agitation, gasps and laughter.

  “The wind betrays us to the horses,” Eli said. “Howl and run! Howl and run!”

  The five wolves lifted their heads and let their voices soar. To them the song was merry—made merrier by the knowledge that it would set the humans to shaking in their boots. They stopped briefly to hear the responses from the wooden wagon, laughed, and sang one more short song before drawing back to the snowmobile trail. In parting, David offered a quick series of growls and snarls, to which there was at least one clear human scream in response. Panting and shaking with laughter, the five trotted down the trail away from the hotel.

  “Did you hear her?” Evie laughed.

  “Funny scream,” laughed Emmy.

  “Most only laugh,” said Eli.

  “Makes them shiver,” David said.

  “Never grows old,” Sarah said.

  “Where now?” Evie asked Eli.

  “Stay east a few miles. Turn south at the fork. The long way home.”

  “To the fork?” Emmy challenged, trotting alongside Evie.

  “Race,” Evie said.

  The two sleek wolves made eye contact to signal the start. Then they turned their heads forward, laid their ears back, and darted forth shoulder-to-shoulder from the trotting pack. Picking up speed like drag racers, roost flew from their paws as they tore the ground. For the first minute or so they tested one another, neither revealing her absolute top speed. And with the others behind slowly losing ground, the two speeders gradually neared their peaks, their mouths smiling, eyes narrow as their hearts pumped furiously.

  For a mile or two they ran dead even this way, until, after a slight turn in the trail, Evie lost a step from being on the outside of the turn. As the trail straightened again she dropped the figurative hammer, surging forward at her absolute full speed, her long torso stretched fully with every stride. They were soon even once more. And just as Evie was poised to take the lead, the strangest feeling she’d ever felt came over her.

  Although Evie felt with certainty that she could win this race, could find one last gear and pull slightly ahead, the drive of rivalry seemed to fall strangely away from her intentions. The vessel of snarling anger she’d been earlier in the evening had been softened by kindness, tempered with new friendships. She was in every way still he
rself, confident and sure. But at the same time, she no longer felt the need to prove anything to anyone, least of all the sweet-natured creature at her side. The magnificent body enveloping her was blissfully under her control, and her heart—caught up in the spirit of companionship overflowing within this small band of fun lovers—pumped only gladness now through her veins. She did not wish to beat her new friend, she wished simply to run beside her.

  So for the first time in her life, Evie threw a race.

  “Fork,” called Eli from behind.

  The two racers let up, smiling and panting and praising each other’s speed. The three slower wolves fell in around them, and the elder of the group, Eli, took the lead.

  “We will drink from the oasis,” he said to Evie.

  “So thirsty,” she replied, her tongue lolling.

  From the fork in the trail they headed south a few hundred yards at a trot. Then, cutting in suddenly on a narrower trail, Eli led his cousin to the spot known as the oasis—a house-sized clearing where several springs bubbled up into pools and trickling brooks, the ground was mossy soft, and the twinkling stars reflected on the flat pools of cold water. Each wolf picked a spot and drank their fill, and after, they rolled in the springy moss and stretched their bellies upon it. For a long time they lingered there, feeling lazy with being full of water, and basking carelessly under the glow of the rising moon.

  “So beautiful,” Evie said.

  “Serene,” said Emmy. “And sweet water.”

  “Love it,” Evie said.

  “The best around,” the others agreed.

  “But now I starve,” Evie admitted.

  “Have you permission to hunt?” Eli asked.