Dragon Clan #7: Shell’s Story

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Buck waited for him at the edge of the village. After speaking to a dozen people, all wishing him well, Shell walked up the hill to Buck and nodded that he wanted to leave. One last look over his shoulder found Brix, Robin, Myron, and Trace among the dozen who waved and called out good wishes to him. The boy called Bark held his staff high into the air in salute.

Quester stood to one side. He nodded once, then called, “I’ll be following a day or two behind, but will move twice as fast.”

Shell laughed but knew the comment held more truth than he cared to admit. Even with the wolf leading the way, Quester knew the ways of traveling from his time in the grasslands.

Buck led the way, striking a pace that ate the ground. They traveled between a split in the rock ground, emerging in a dense forest. Another look behind disclosed that even from up close, the front portion of the split in a solid cliff was unnoticeable.

Shell watched Buck turn several times quickly to search behind himself and realized he was not looking for people, but the wolf. That brought a smile to Shell because the wolf was not behind them, but ranging in front.

While he had talked to Quester and Myron, the wolf had slipped to the other side of the village through the opening in the rock. It now loped ahead, sweeping from side to side. From the mental impressions Shell received, she was pleased to be moving again. Twice it fell back and checked behind them, then quickly circled around and again took the unseen lead. When they reached a wide stream with a muddy bank, Shell noticed Buck reacted when he spotted the massive wolf footprints that had crossed only a short time earlier.

From the nervous way Buck moved, and the speed they traveled, Shell got the impression Buck would only be too glad to turn back at the road. After spending a good portion of the remaining daylight to cross a section of rubble at the base of a cliff, Shell asked, “How much farther to the road?”

“Not far.”

“What is the difficulty between here and there?”

“Nothing.”

“If you head back now, is there time to cross that rubble before dark?”

Buck nodded, then said, “Myron told me to take you to the road.”

“Tell Myron I want to search for red leaves before the scent fades, and they turn green. He’ll understand.”

Buck shrugged and turned to leave. Then he called, “Take care of Camilla.”

By the time Shell attempted to explain that he was not chasing after Camilla, Buck had disappeared. He waited, just in case, eventually seeing Buck climb over the rocks and boulders on his way back to the village. Shell settled down on a log and pulled the cheese and hard bread from his pack, as well as the shirt belonging to Camilla.

He sniffed it. The smell was earthy and perfumed faintly with the scent of flowers. He glanced around. The only trail leading to the village fanned out from this point, so the best place to track Camilla would be here. Otherwise, she might take a path to the north while he went south. By beginning here, he would be certain to start the trip behind her and on the same path.

Shell found the location where the wolf resided in his mind. The animal seemed to wait for his call. He sensed it ahead a hundred steps away, just off the path he would walk. Come here.

A feeling of reluctance filled him, but even as he understood the reaction and attempted to overcome it, the wolf drew nearer. Shell tried to identify another word. Pack.

The wolf came into sight and stopped. She was only ten steps ahead, but from the mental image Shell felt, wouldn’t come closer. She remained on her feet, her eyes fixed on him. Slowly and carefully so he didn’t startle the wolf, Shell tossed the shirt, so it landed near the wolf, but off to one side.

Her nose wrinkled, then she moved closer and sniffed the shirt several times. Her head came up, and she turned away, pointing in the direction they had been traveling. Shell felt an image or compulsion in his mind that told him to follow. Shell picked up the shirt and rolled it tightly, so it didn’t lose more scent in case he needed it again, and then hurried after the wolf.

The wolf loped ahead a hundred paces and waited for Shell almost to catch up, then moved ahead again. Shell began jogging for half the distance and walking fast for the rest. They continued that way until nearly dark. From the directions he’d been provided, Shell thought he was getting close to the road, but decided to remain for the night beside a small stream.

The wolf paced and circled the location as if agitated they were stopping. It wished to continue the hunt. Shell tried to project the idea that the low clouds prevented enough light to see the ground well enough to walk, let alone to continue walking under the trees. Shell spread his blanket and ate cold hard bread and slurped water from the stream, but made a cold camp to make sure the fire was not spotted. Besides, he wanted to sleep. The emotions and travel of the last few days had worn him out.

As the first streaks of pink touched the morning sky, the wolf entered his campsite and nuzzled him. Shell tried to roll over and return to sleep until his eyes opened. Startled, he found himself facing a creature that weighed more than him. The wolf’s head almost reached his chest when he was standing, now it towered over him. He leaped to his feet to defend himself. The wolf opened her mouth to yawn. The teeth looked longer than his little finger.

It was only the second-time Shell saw more than fleeting glimpses of the animal, and seeing it upon waking the first thing in the morning was terrifying. The wolf was a very large female with golden eyes that gleamed with intelligence. The paws spread as wide as his hand. The overall impression was of youth and leanness. And power.

The wolf wanted to chase down the scent of the human they followed. It relayed its impatience that Shell slept away the morning instead of joining it in the hunt.

The last information came as another impression, and Shell realized that if he spoke with Myron again about the wolf, he would change some of his previous answers and impressions. Definitely, the wolf communicated, and it knew that daylight approached, and she wanted to leave to pursue her prey. All of that showed intelligence. Carefully, with more than a little fear, Shell reached for his backpack and rolled up his blanket, his eyes on the animal that sat and watched him, as if urging him to hurry. She waited patiently, her fur rippling in the morning breeze.

When Shell had everything ready, the wolf stood and trotted ahead. She never glanced behind to see if Shell followed, and Shell wondered if she could sense him, the same way as he knew her location. The wolf remained out of sight, moving quickly, but waiting for Shell when he fell behind. They reached the road as the sun first appeared over the mountains, and a feeling of warning overcame Shell. He paused, the sensation new to him, but caution was not.

A powerful horse with enormous hooves pulled a wagon along the dirt road, loaded with small logs. A farmer sat on top of the load, a hat drooping over his eyes. That’s odd. Firewood can be found close to most farms. The logs were intended for something else, maybe fence posts from wood, resistant to rot. Where did that thought come from?

Shell watched as the wagon rumbled past as he wondered if the last thoughts about rotting fence posts were his or the wolf’s. So far, there had only been impressions and vague images exchanged, but if the animal was smart enough to wake him at dawn to continue his journey, all bets were off over how smart she was.

He waited until the wagon rolled down the road. He darted across and into the thick underbrush on the other side before any other traveler came into view. A path carried him deeper into the forest, and when the path forked, he took the one to the left without pausing because he could sense the wolf had gone in that direction.

With the wolf watching his rear, both flanks, and ahead, he ran until winded and then walked, estimating he traveled twice the distance of a careful traveler like Camilla. The wolf would warn him of any danger, so he concentrated on speed. While he saw no sign of her passing, he didn’t expect to, not until the following day. The land they crossed became more rugged, the hills taller and steeper, the soil wetter, and the trees larger. At times, he felt he traveled in tunnels.

His thoughts returned to the girl ahead that he had never met, but he recalled the stories of her living and surviving by herself as a wildling. The King’s Weapon-master and Sword-master had followed her, and the son of the Earl himself came to her rescue. Since that escape over four years ago, the Earl of Princeton died in a carriage accident with two of his consorts, and his son assumed his inherited position.

The stories said the new Earl called Edward, who also supported the Dragon Clan without being obvious about it. He worked behind the scenes, and behind the back of King Ember, for the benefit of the Dragon Clan. Old laws were quietly repealed, new ones passed, and those things were the direct result of the one little girl called Camilla.

Even Myron had mentioned at least four others this year who had gone to the Bear Mountain Family in hopes of winning her attention, but Shell simply wanted to meet her. He expected to be rebuffed as a suitor, but hoped to find a woman of the Dragon Clan who wished to become his wife. Several young women at Bear Mountain had caught his eye, and dark haired beauty seemed particularly interested in him. Shell allowed the thoughts to fill his thinking as he walked and ran, letting them pass the time as he tried to sort them out.

How much can the wolf, hear and understand about my private thoughts? The idea snapped into his mind like a tree falling on his head. For the first time, he felt violated. He hadn’t asked for the wolf to invade his mind, didn’t understand and approve of the animal knowing his innermost thoughts.

But he didn’t know if the wolf could read his thoughts, and if it could, would it understand them? No, he didn’t think so. The wolf could read his feelings. It might understand such things as happiness and fear, for certain. But even those carried other, implied understandings.

They traveled all day, walking as fast as the pain increasingly tired legs would allow. He mitigated some of it by jogging or running, especially when they came to downhill sections of the trails they followed. Camilla had not traveled in a straight line. She often took the smaller trails, and twice he found small human footprints near water.

By the end of the day, he located several more, small boots, short stride, and the idea that she should be more careful came to mind. Shell was not the best tracker, and anything out of the grasslands was new to him. If he could follow her, others could.

Glancing behind, he saw his own tracks clearly. Even a child could follow him. One look up at the ridges ahead where the sun sank, and he decided to quit for the day and build a fire before dark. With luck, he would catch up with Camilla tomorrow, the next day at the latest.

As the sun set, his fire warmed him. He wished he had continued and found a stream or small river where he could use his hand line to fish. Instead, he extended his legs in front of him and let the tight muscles relax as the flames held back the growing darkness.

The wolf hadn’t eaten and didn’t seem hungry. She loped back down the path almost to the road, then returned again. Shell was amazed at the distance the wolf traveled without effort. She didn’t seem to move fast or expend more energy than necessary, but moved at least three steps for every one Shell did, and Shell was ready to collapse.

A tingle on his back drew instant attention. He stood on stiff legs and moved where he could watch the sky. A single dragon flew westward, high and off to his right. The sun reflected off the dragon, giving it a reddish glow, but the dragon may have been any color. And since there was nothing to judge the size against, it could have been any.

It could have been a Green, and the sun made it appear red. It might have been a large male. But Shell believed it to be the dwarf Red, the only one he’d ever heard of. He allowed his mind to reach out but failed to get a response.

A dwarf, runt, or miniature, all said the same. Did it come from elsewhere? A place where all dragons were that small size? Or was it a mutant? Did other dragons accept it?

He sat again, lost in thoughts filled with questions he couldn’t answer. If it was the same dragon, and he believed it was, why was it flying west? Dragons do not normally fly at night, but it was twilight and therefore it had to find a place to roost before full-dark. That didn’t give it much time.

Tomorrow he intended to watch the sky closer. While the wolf watched all around him, it didn’t look up, at least not that he knew of. Shell placed two large dead branches across the fire, letting the flames burn the middles. His mother had taught him that trick. Instead of working hard with his knife to cut the hardwood into firewood lengths, he let the fire do his work. When the fire ate through the branches, he would push the ends together. She called it push-wood.

The old memories of camping with his mother were still floating around in his mind with the first hint of warning from the wolf touching him.

“What is it?” Shell asked, forming the words with silent lips in hopes the wolf would better understand as he kicked dirt over the fire. His staff had been beside him, but as he glanced down, he found it already in his hand. He silently eased into a deeper shadow under a tall tree, then remained where he could watch the campsite.

Danger. Man.

Those two words, if they were words, were enough. Someone was sneaking up on him. Shell knelt on one knee to help disguise his silhouette, and yet remained ready to fight, flee, or slink away, whichever was needed. He touched the wolf’s mind again, wondering if he should tell it to attack.

The wolf didn’t respond, although he could still determine where she was. Shell pressed harder, demanding an answer, but other than the awareness of the wolf’s location, little information flowed between them. Shell had been depending on the wolf all day to protect or warn him, and now that he needed help, the wolf ignored him.

Shell decided he’d been too trusting of the animal. He kept his eyes averted from the remains of the campfire to preserve his night vision, and watched, smelled, and listened. Nightbirds chattered, owls hooted, insects hummed and screeched, and the soft night breeze rattled the leaves giving a soft background that deflected and softened other sounds.

A hint of a darker black shifted near the stream. He suspected it was the wolf until he checked with his mind. No, the wolf was off to his right.

A bear? No, the wolf said it was a man. He touched the wolf’s mind again and found an image of pups playing happily outside of a den, a pleasant memory. One was hiding, while the wolf he mind-touched crept up on it. Just before it pounced, Shell imagined the wolf smiling.

Smiling? Wolves don’t smile. The black object near his campsite moved another step closer. Shell realized it had spotted his blanket and thought he was sleeping. The glint of starlight reflected off a blade the intruder held.

The wolf made a soft cough that another might think was a laugh. The image sharpened in the wolf’s mind as it remembered the instant just before it leaped from cover to surprise its brother or sister.

Shell sent a thought to the wolf. No danger?

No.