Veter’s ears flattened. He shrank down like a shriveled berry.
Zima sniffed and raced away from him as fast as she could manage. For a moment there was a surge of guilt from her stomach to her throat. When there was no sound of paws hitting the ground behind her, she was half-glad he had listened to her, and half-angry with herself that finding Leto now fell solely on her.
She lost Leto among all the other smells of the village. Horses, chickens, pigs, all scratching around in their hay-filled pens. Smoky fires and oil from lamps that had been put out when the sun rose. Soap and clean clothes. Even the distinctive smell of freshly splintered wood. All of them recognizable from the only other time that Zima had been close enough to the village to smell them with her father.
Zima had gotten angry at him for taking them so close to so much food, and not allowing them to have any. She didn’t know that in only a few moons he would be gone.
Wolves and humans have a long-held pact: If we stay out of the village, they will stay out of the forest. It has always been this way, he’d said. No matter how hungry you are, no matter what you seek, you must never enter the village.
But he was wrong. The pact was broken. Humans had started entering the forest. And now Leto was going into the village.
Before her, the road was packed with men, women, and children. So many people. Did the humans always gather like this? The children chased each other with sticks, laughing and yelping, the tree-bark coverings on their feet heavy with mud. Women pulled fabric tight around their heads to protect themselves from the frigid air, their cheeks and lips rosy as they giggled. Many of the men wore fur on their heads, making them look like strange forest creatures. The humans all had their heads turned in the same direction, as though watching and waiting for something to happen.
She sifted through the many smells, trying to find the one she knew to be Leto. At last, she caught it. He was nearby. He must have just passed this way.
Carefully Zima crept along the edge of the woods. This was different from his usual smell. Sweet, like ripe berries. It was bursting with the scent of his feelings, and he reeked with excitement.
And then he appeared. Just a few bounds away from her, half-hidden by the trees. He trotted behind a cluster of villagers. They had their backs to him, but he was close to them, too close. A human with a bow and arrow could easily shoot him, could even throw a knife where he stood. But none of the villagers seemed to notice the young wolf behind them, weaving close and then away, poking his nose about. He was searching for something.
A sharp sound—almost like the trumpet of a goose—pierced the air, three blasts. Excitement rippled through the crowd of villagers. They shivered, like something had rubbed their fur the wrong way and they were shaking themselves to set it right.
Zima crouched, aiming to grab Leto by the scruff of his neck so she could drag him away from the humans into the safety of some nearby brambles. Silent as the wind, she sprang.
Leto turned his head as Zima flew through the air toward him. They collided and she knocked him to the ground, pinning him under her. Rolling away from the humans, they tumbled down a small hill and just out of sight.
Zima, what are you doing here? Leto hissed when they stopped rolling. Grom told you to stay at the home place.
The pity in his eyes stung more than if he’d slashed at her with his claws.
Zima growled softly, low enough so the villagers wouldn’t hear. Why are you here?
I am not to tell you, Leto said.
Was this part of Grom’s plan? Zima didn’t move, keeping the much smaller Leto pinned under her. That same trumpeting sounded again in the distance, and the people exploded with chatter.
The two wolves needed to get out of there. They were dangerously exposed, and who knew when the humans would let their attention stray from whatever was going on. Every passing instant there was the risk of a human turning around and spotting them within reach of their arrows.
She pulled her paws away from Leto, letting him stand, then shoving him backward into a jumble of ferns and berry bushes.
Now hidden from the villagers’ view, Zima whirled on Leto in a panic. Father told us never to enter the village. What about the pact?
Leto bristled. Humans have been invading the forest. The pact is finished.
Zima couldn’t believe what she was hearing. So Grom sent you here into this swarm of villagers?
We did not expect so many.
Then we must go. You can come back here when they have gone.
Leto stood, poking his nose between the fronds to peer out again. No, I need to watch them. I want all the humans to be here—it means I can report to Grom.
Report what? Tell me what is going on!
The growl in Zima’s throat startled Leto. He turned to her, no trace of fear in his eyes, only surprise. Had she been Grom, he would have answered her question immediately. After a long moment, he sighed. Weapons. We plan to take human weapons. Arrows, traps, everything.
So this was Grom’s scheme. It would lessen the threat of humans for a while, but at what risk? Leto would get hurt before they got anywhere close to the completion of this plan.
But before she could protest, the villagers began to cheer. Zima jumped, ready to dash deeper into the woods, but Leto stayed put. He kept his head poked through the brambles, watching.
Zima pressed forward, taking in the scene. Leto’s eyes were focused on the villagers closest to them, with weapons strapped to their backs. There were quivers full of arrows. Men held roughly hewn bows in one hand. Past them, the reason for all the commotion emerged. It was a wooden box perched on wheels, pulled by a team of horses. But while the other carts in the village were of rough, splintery wood, piled high with goods to take to nearby villages, this one was enormous and elaborate. Sunlight bounced off the polished wooden beams of its roof. Below, windows were covered with thick heavy cloth, and the doors were framed by intricate carvings of two eagles, their wings outspread.
As the thing passed a gap in the crowd of villagers, Zima saw a graceful hand, so gentle that it might have floated away on the breeze, sweeping aside the fabric in one of the windows.
Then the hand’s owner, a young human woman dressed in blue, moved into view. She had a round, moonlike face that glowed with apparent happiness. Her eyes scanned the crowd, taking in each person one by one, until at last the cart rolled around a bend in the road and the woman was lost from view.
Like fog clearing, the villagers turned and began to walk in the opposite direction toward the village. Small children raced ahead and the adults followed behind chattering excitedly at what they’d just seen.
But beside her, Zima could feel the tension in Leto’s legs and tail. He’d glimpsed something.