Rushwater Holt - Winterkill

Something ill upon the wind has found its way to Rushwater Holt, wreaking savage havoc upon wolf and elf alike.

Contributors: Robyn Becker, Cindy England, Amethyst Flynn, Heidi Henderson, Leonie Jonk, Beth Kita, Joan Milligan, Jim Northcott, Johan Österström, Jane Senese, Vicki Stephenson, Ron Swartzendruber, Whitney Ware & Katherine Whitworth.

They hunted along the riverbanks, the whole tribe traveling in silence, the rushing of the water the only sound. Neither crickets nor night birds sang, and as they hunted a chill settled into Dreamshadow. It was as though they moved through a forest with unseen borders. She felt cut off from the rest of the world, as though she could scream and the sound would carry only as far as she could reach.

She watched her tribe mates, eager to see if they felt the strange oppression in the air. They all seemed oblivious. Wildstar and Lonewolf had eyes only for each other, barely even looking at the trail they claimed to be following. The cubs had scattered and while she could hear them in the darkness just beyond vision, she could not be certain of their whereabouts.

The others rode on, clearly unaware of the strangeness in the night. It was unlike any hunt she'd ever been on before. They laughed and smiled and no one put any effort at all into seeking or killing prey. On any other night the woods would have been loud with the sound of small animals bolting away from so much noise in the forest. Tonight, there was nothing at all.

Unsettled beyond her own tolerance she urged Wintermoon forward, toward Woodsmoke and Troublemaker. The others all moved silently out of her way as she passed but for some reason she couldn't seem to catch up to him. She coaxed Wintermoon, pleading with her to move faster but her wolf appeared to be as unfocused as everyone else.

She sent to Woodsmoke, **Wait for me!** but it was wrong. The send seemed to go out forever, touching nothing. Her lifemate did not respond. Dreamshadow's nerve broke. She slid effortlessly off Wintermoon and ran forward, weaving through wolves and elves, her eyes never leaving Woodsmoke's back.

Just as she reached him he stopped. He turned and looked through her, behind her, and his eyes went wide with surprise and grief. Startled, Dreamshadow turned to see what he was looking at and her mouth opened in surprise. The tribe was gone. Almost all of the wolves were gone as well. No tracks led away from the river. The wolves that remained were diminished in some way. They hung their heads, their ears flat, their tails low.

When she called to them they all moved at once, listlessly approaching her with plodding gait. They sat in a circle around her, Wintermoon to her right and Harmony's Current to her left. Perplexed by this uncharacteristic behaviour she looked back to Woodsmoke and her heart went cold. Calmspirit stood in his place, looking back up the river, his expression anxious and alert.

"Something is coming," he breathed. She could barely hear him at all. He did not look at her and she didn't trust herself to speak. She followed his gaze, increasingly apprehensive. She couldn't see anything, but the strange feeling in the air intensified. One of the wolves pressed into her back, and she scratched its ears distractedly.

**Preystinger,** the wolf sent, as clearly as any elf. That startled her enough to draw her attention. She looked down into the wolf's eyes. Yes, Preystinger. She knew him; one of Halfkin's bonds.

**Remember,** the wolf sent again. Now she was sure she was dreaming. No wolf had ever advised her to remember anything. He rammed his broad, bony head into her side, then returned to his place in the circle.

**Remember what?** she sent, curious what the dream-wolf had to say. There was no answer. She sent the question again, this time to all the wolves. They looked away, up the river, in the same direction that Calmspirit was looking.

She could see the wind coming. It carried leaves and needles and dust and kicked up water on the surface of the river. It was strong and funneled down the canyon picking up speed and power. Using the kind of logic that only works in dreams, she stood to face the coming storm. It blew around her and should have carried her off her feet, but didn't. It buffeted and bruised her, but it did not move her at all. She choked on her own hair and covered her eyes with spread fingers. After several heartbeats it stopped suddenly.

Follow the Wind

Calmspirit whistled and turned to chase the wind. Preystinger lurched to his feet, suddenly animated and eager. He followed Calmspirit, and the rest of the wolves followed Preystinger. At the last minute one wolf turned and looked back. He gave a low, popping bark. Dreamshadow knew him as well: Slytrapper. Lark's wolf. She raised her hand to him, unsure if she was greeting him, or waving farewell. He lolled his tongue out of the side of his mouth, giving her a wolf's smile and also bolted into the dark forest. Then she was alone.

She looked up at the stars. The night was clear and bright. Close by a cricket began to sing. Further away she heard the laughter of cubs. Dreamshadow focused on that sound and walked toward it. As she left, a last cold burst of wind came down the canyon, smelling of Bloom Rest and very faintly of something unpleasant. She sampled the air, tasting the odour, then wrinkled her nose.

The wind smelled of whitestripe.

Dreamshadow woke dry-mouthed and exhausted. It was still broad daylight, too bright to look outside for long. She sent tentatively to Woodsmoke and he acknowledged her with sleep-muddled affection.

**No, and neither are you,** he insisted. She stroked his hair lovingly and smiled.

**Yes, I'm afraid I am,** she returned gently. She kissed the top of his head and slipped out of their bed to looked in on Echo. Their daughter was sound asleep. She stirred and Dreamshadow withdrew quietly, not wanting to wake her.

Above their main sleeping chamber was another hollow shaped years ago by Firemoss. In it Dreamshadow kept her memories, and sometimes those of her friends. Many of her wolves' pelts were in this room, and other trinkets collected from many turns of affection and loss. She took a tiny pouch of dried dreamberries from a hook shaped next to the door and popped two into her mouth.

Dreamshadow curled into the pool of furs and collected recollections, sucking the flavour from the tart-sweet berries. They worked their natural magic swiftly. She sank deeper into the haze, staring at the dancing patterns the sun made on the inside of the tree. In her mind the images of her dreams swirled around her and she watched dispassionately, waiting to see what would surface next.

Near the gently curving ceiling of the room a series of small openings let in fresh air and filtered sunlight. As the day wore on, the light on the wall turned from leaf green to sunset bronze, crawling slowing along like a strange caterpillar. There was nothing in her memory or her dreams that helped her make sense of today's puzzle. She understood it's tone, and the mood of it was unmistakable, but she couldn't make head or tail of the dream itself. Something was coming, that was all she knew. Some fierce and buffeting force was on its way.

She sighed. It was dark enough now that some of the other early risers were beginning to stir. She briefly considered sending for Firemoss, then stopped herself. Her friend had enough on her mind right now without Dreamshadow adding her own ambiguous worries to the load. Mystic might have some insights, or Dreamberry, but they were both certainly still sleeping at this time.

Her muscles ached from her stillness and she realized she hadn't moved since she sat down. She clenched herself into a tight ball and then stretched as languorously as she could, reaching until her arms and legs shook with the extension.

**Dryn?** Woodsmoke's send was considerably more focused than his earlier effort.

**Are you still up?** He came to her silently, peering into her nest from the entrance of the room.

**I couldn't sleep,** she explained. He nodded, and she sent the dream to him, careful to include every detail she could recall. Woodsmoke took the images from her mind quietly, weighing them against his own experience.

"They were saying goodbye," he offered finally. He sat on the edge of the chamber.

Dreamshadow scowled darkly. "I don't like that at all," she grumbled softly. Her dreamberry haze was good and gone and Woodsmoke's astute observation pulled her inexorably back to what she didn't want to admit she knew. He watched her dispassionately, knowing the mood would pass swiftly. He could feel that the dream bothered her more than she was willing to confess.

Her lifemate grinned wryly. "True," he said, taking her arm and helping her down from her perch, "Whatever it is will come downstream soon enough." They walked arm in arm back to the main den where Echo was also awake and pulling on her boots.

Dreamshadow smiled at her lifemate and shrugged. "I don't see why not. Stay close to the Holt."

"Of course," Echo agreed, not quite rolling her eyes. She slipped out of their dwelling, disappearing in the shadows.

The night was clear and crisp, the first dry night after a long spell of Bloom Rest rain. It was a night the tribe's Hunt would not let go to waste - and neither would the tribe's cubs.

"Hold on!" Boldscout yelled, as beneath them Firefur bolted forward explosively. Only Boldscout's warning saved his passenger from falling head-over-tail as Firefur ran after whatever-it-was the she-wolf had flushed from the thick tangle of brambleberries. Clover clung to Boldscout's middle, his knees locked against Firefur's ruddy body. He hadn't the younger boy's practice at wolf riding, or the benefit of the wolf bond to help keep him astride.

Within moments, Sunray and Echo were right at Firefur's heels. Echo yipped excitedly, as both wolves dodged and darted through the brush after their prey.

"But we promised!" Clover protested, around a mouthful of Boldscout's hair as it was blown back in his face. "We promised, no hunting!" And they had promised that, too, when the elders had let the three cubs and their two wolf-friends leave the Holt that evening. They had promised not to stray far, to remain within sending reach of the Holt at all times, and to not place themselves in any danger by trying to hunt.

**It's a ravvit!** Boldscout countered. **If it's going to fling itself under our noses, it's not our fault!**

**And a ravvit's no danger!** Echo agreed gleefully, as Sunray vaulted over a fallen log. The girl gave a trilling howl, urging her she-wolf to greater speed as Sunray began to draw even with Firefur.

There was a flash of a bobbing white tail ahead of them, and then the ravvit was gone, ducking away into its hole. Both wolves skidded to an abrupt halt, nearly unseating all three uncertain riders, and Firefur buried her snout in the ravvit hole. She recoiled with a snort, and began to dig furiously around the mouth of the burrow.

Sunray was sniffing actively at a clump of fern nearby. **There's something else here,** Echo sent, wide-eyed.

The two boys went silent. **Hear that?** Boldscout asked excitedly, as another clump of ferns several wolf-lengths away rustled enticingly.

Firefur stopped her digging and looked up, nose quivering. Sunray was faster. She lunged forward with an excited wuff - then jerked to an abrupt halt only an arrow-length from the leafy growth of ferns.

**Whitestripe!** Echo warned them, making a face as she caught the creature's scent. Sunray retreated several steps as a dark snout pushed out of the concealing brush.

**I thought whitestripes slept all Bloom Rest!** Clover said, grabbing a fresh hold on Boldscout's waist as Firefur began to circle to Sunray's left.

**Echo, keep its attention!** Boldscout ordered. The whitestripe had waddled out of the ferns, and was stamping its feet in warning.

**What are you doing?** Echo asked suspiciously, while Sunray eyed the whitestripe nervously and retreated another few steps away.

**Trust me! I know what I'm doing!** Boldscout replied, as Firefur circled farther behind the whitestripe. **Father told me that if you're fast enough and grab them by the tail, they can't spray you. We can skin it and give its pelt to the chieftess as a blanket for the baby when it's born!**

**I don't think this is a good idea,** Clover argued, as the whitestripe shifted toward them.

Sunray barked. The whitestripe turned again to face that possible threat, and Boldscout sent his own wolf-friend darting in. The youth snatched after the whitestripe, but the creature's fluffy, striped tail bannered into the air, and wolf and riders were doused in a stinging, blinding, stinking spray of musk.

Echo shrieked; Firefur yelped and staggered backward, while both of her riders wailed in dismay. Sunray, however, kept her wits. The tawny she-wolf lunged forward and closed her jaws around the whitestripe's skull. One vicious shake of her head, and Sunray snapped the creature's neck like a twig. The victorious she-wolf tossed her prey into the air and danced backward, while her rider moaned and pinched her nose closed against the cloud of stench.

Firefur whimpered and rubbed her face into the forest loam, while both of her riders had spilled off her back and scrambled backward, rubbing their eyes and choking for breath. "I thought you said you knew what you were doing!" Clover moaned, his eyes streaming with tears.

"I did! Echo was supposed to distract for me!" Boldscout retorted, rubbing his tunic sleeve over his face vigourously.

"Don't blame me," Echo stated, crossing her arms. "It's you both who'll in big trouble now."

Boldscout managed a weepy-eyed glare in her direction, then slid a dark look toward Clover. The older boy smirked and nodded agreement to his friend.

"Nooo, stay away!" Echo sniffed, as both boys advanced on Sunray. "You both stink!"

"Get her!" Boldscout cried, as both boys sprang for Sunray's rider. Echo screamed as she was toppled off her she-wolf's back, and then screamed even louder when Clover grabbed after the dead whitestripe and rubbed the broken, furry body against her tunic as Boldscout held her down.

Boldscout began to laugh, then shrieked as shrilly as Echo just had as Clover shoved the business end of the whitestripe into his face. "Hey!" Boldscout cried, falling over on his back and batting the dead beast away.

"Grab it by the tail!" Clover laughed. "Go ahead - you do know what you're doing, don't you?"

Boldscout scrambled backward on his elbows and backside, yelling in outrage as Clover pushed the dead whitestripe at him again. Echo burst out giggling and rolled out from between them, while Firefur scrambled in to her rider's defense. The she-wolf sank her teeth into the dead whitestripe and pulled it away from Clover. "Get it!" Echo called to Sunray, who lunged forward and snatched up the beast's stinking hindquarters. The two young wolves began to play a gruesome game of tug-of-war, tearing the whitestripe apart.

"Can't use that pelt now," Boldscout said, pouting as he picked himself up off the ground.

Echo wiped away the last of her giggles, then looked down at her musk-smeared tunic in dismay. "We all stink now," she groaned. "We're going to be in such trouble�"

"Wolfstrider!" Firemoss called in surprise, as she came down from her hometree to help the hunters unload the meat-heavy travois'. She hurried up to the travel-worn scout and hugged him as he slipped off his wolf's back.

To his credit, Wolfstrider didn't recoil at her embrace, although she felt his catch of breath as he caught her scent. "Clover and the other cubs had to prove themselves brave hunters," she said in explanation, as Wolfstrider gave her a brief hug in return.

"After five straight days and nights, hiding away from the rain, I think a little freedom got the best of them," Firemoss answered with a wry laugh. "I've been shampooing and scrubbing cubs since midnight, and I'm down to my last jug of vinegar." She stood back and held Wolfstrider at arm's length, searching his face for the question that had lain close to her heart for too many long, cold nights. "Any sign of them?"

The scout's face was sober, and his dark eyes were cautious. "None," he answered.

"Wolfstrider!" cried another voice, and Birchbark arrived in the next moment, her pale hair completely loose around her violet-eyed face. "Have you seen Rock and Duskwater?" she asked, her expression no less anxious than Firemoss felt.

"No sign of them," Wolfstrider said. When Birchbark's expression fell, he was quick to add, "-but I'm not the sender that either Rock or my father are. If either of them had been in any trouble and had cast out for help, they would have reached me."

The midwife gave Wolfstrider a tight smile of acknowledgement. Firemoss doubted Wolfstrider's attempt at comfort had provided much for Birchbark; it certainly hadn't eased the ever-present knot of fear in her own heart at all. But it was kind of the tracker to try, and Firemoss knew Wolfstrider was as worried for Duskwater and Rock as both Birchbark and Firemoss herself.

It had been a little over one turning of the seasons now since Rock had left the Holt, grieving over his lovemate Wildstar's Recognition to Lonewolf. Duskwater had chosen to accompany the younger elf. Firemoss had given her lifemate her blessing for what she had thought would be a day's journey, or maybe two. But that had been last Storm Rage and a new Bloom Rest was hard upon the tribe now, with no recent contact from Rock or Duskwater for too many moon dances to count.

Birchbark sighed, then made a face. "You might not have found that brother of mine, but you sure smell like you found something," she teased Wolfstrider.

"That's me you smell," Firemoss laughed. "Clover, Boldscout and Echo decided to go hunting on their own tonight."

Birchbark retreated a step and grinned. "You sending the boy to sleep in the wolf dens?"

"No. Though I certainly considered it - their wolves haven't had the benefit of a good herbal shampoo, after all, and Firefur and Sunray were still playing with the scraps when the cubs came home. But my nose is already deaf from smelling musk all night," Firemoss said. "I'm sure the cubs have learned their lesson. You should have heard Dirk."

"I've been scrubbing them down with cider vinegar since midnight-" Firemoss began.

There was a snarl and and flurry of movement among the wolves; Nettle's Coldfur had taken exception to Wolfstrider's Flea getting too close to the branchhorn carcass strapped to the travois, and within seconds, the black she-wolf was on her back, throat and belly exposed, with Coldfur's fangs wrapped around her muzzle. Coldfur snarled viciously but, her point made, she released Flea's snout after a long moment, and the lowest-most of the pack rolled to her feet and slunk away, tail tucked tight and ears deferentially flat.

Wolfstrider gave Firemoss and Birchbark an apologetic glance. "I need to report to the chieftess," he said, parting ways to follow after his wolf. Firemoss nodded and watched him go, having forgotten whatever it was she had been saying.

"I'd hoped for better news," Birchbark sighed, voicing what Firemoss hadn't wanted to confess aloud. The midwife gave her elder a sad smile of consolation, and hugged her sympathetically. "But if the Hunt did so well, so close to the Holt in this season, we can at least trust that Duskwater and Rock are finding good hunting and eating well. They won't go hungry this Bloom Rest, whereever they're at," she said.

Firemoss returned her kinswoman's hug before turning back to the chore she'd come to lend her aid to. "And with all of this meat, neither will we. Come, let's help them get it all carved and ready for the storedens."

At dawn came a familiar scratching outside of his window. Wolfstrider stirred from his bed enough to reach the ties that held the window flap closed, and moments later, Halfkin swarmed through the window's round archway.

Wolfstrider groaned and fell back into bed. "Too bad even for you, huh?" he said, dragging a forearm across his eyes wearily.

Halfkin's reply was a wolfish snort as he climbed into his soul brother's bowl-shaped bed. **Bad,** he sent in agreement.

It was one of the few differences between his soul brother and the wolf pack, Wolfstrider mused. The wolves would tolerate their whitestripe-reeking kin, while Halfkin showed the good sense to escape the reeking, close quarters of the wolf cave. He shifted over in the bed to give Halfkin his share, drew breath, then pulled his arm a little lower to block his nose.

"Don't think the wolves will have much company in the next few days," Wolfstrider said aloud. "They'll all stink to the skies come high sun."

"Rain is coming," Halfkin observed, stealing away one of the bed furs and making himself comfortable.

It would take more than rainfall to wash the pack free of whitestripe stink. Besides, after the night's successful hunt, the meat-heavy wolves would stay to their fetid but dry den caves. Wolfstrider considered the prospect of wet wolf pelt and whitestripe musk joined in a memorable perfume, and couldn't repress a shudder. As hardy a soul as Halfkin was, not even he would want to sleep in such conditions for several days on end. The wolf pack would likely find themselves lonely for the next several days; if the smell drove away even Halfkin. Wolfstrider fell asleep still wondering what he had in his possession he might be able to spare, which the tanners might take in trade for another bed fur to two.

Winter was usually a dry season for the Holt, but this Bloom Rest the skies grew heavy with rain clouds, and for three days and nights, rain fell as if it were already New Flood.

The two soul sisters hurried up the dark canyon trail. Dawnmist held a hem of her leather wrap over her head as protection against the rain, while Snowsoft ignored the wet, even as her silver hair dripped a steady stream down past her nose.

Dawnmist laughed as the two soul sisters reached the top of the plateau where the wolf caves were. "Hurry, before we drown!" she said, dashing forward toward the first black cave mouth.

Both women ran for refuge from the rain. Two wolves sat in the dripping gloom of the cave mouth; Flea and Troublemaker, the pack's lowest ranked, sprawled in what damp shelter the rest of the pack's tolerance allowed them. Both wolves sat up in greeting as the two elves ran past.

"Stinky dryness," Snowsoft grimaced, breathing in the tainted air carefully to acclimatize her sensitive nose.

"Glad the wolves are denned all the way up here, and not in the root den of my hometree!" Dawnmist said with a laugh.

Snowsoft whistled, and in the thick darkness beyond them, shadows moved and scattered small stones with their claws. Lonefang came padding up out of the blackness, his moon-pale hide shining. Dawnmist's own Wayfarer followed at his heels, her tail wagging in pleasure.

The two soul sisters settled into their separate rituals of greeting, hugging and scratching and responding to their wolves' individual demands. Lonefang preferred an immediate scratching concentrated on his mid-spine, while Wayfarer sat and tried to give her rider a reciprocal face-washing as Dawnmist lashed her she-wolf's head and ears with attention.

"Treats," Snowsoft said, pulling a dried meat-streaked bone from the thick pocket of her winter coat. To her surprise, Lonefang took the offered treasure but dropped it, when normally the wolf would immediately settle to gnaw the offering. When Wayfarer was offered a similar treat, the she-wolf ignored it, instead butting her head against Dawnmist's hands for more ear scratching.

"That's not like you," Dawnmist said, rubbing behind Wayfarer's left ear until the she-wolf was grinning. "Don't tell me you can't be hungry!"

"The wolves ate enough after the last hunt to keep them full for another few days," Snowsoft said.

"But it's already been three," Dawnmist said. "And look at these weepy eyes. Do you have a scratch across your eyes?" she asked her wolf, kneeling to peer closely into Wayfarer's eyes.

"Lonefang's got eye snot too," Snowsoft observed. "But with the reek in here, can you blame them? You know how bad whitestripe in close quarters can be."

Dawnmist laughed cheerfully. "Oh, do I! 'Eye-watering' is a gentle way to state it," she said with a grin. "Do you remember when you and I and Chestnut-"

The two soul sisters grinned at one another in the gloom. Then Dawnmist sniffed and rubbed at her nose with the back of her hand.

"I just thought of something else I could do, back down in the Holt," she offered. "And if we stay up here much longer, we'll stink as bad as the wolves."

"Fickle creature," Snowsoft teased, even as she headed for the cave mouth and fresh air beyond. "Suddenly Bloom Rest chores don't seem so bad after all, do they?"

Wolfstrider sat cross-legged as he carved, with a battered ravvit skin draped over his lap to catch ivory shavings and keep them out of his bed furs. The boar tusk would be his Bloom Rest's work. He planned to carve a single vine twining around its length, from which would bloom leaves and morning glory petals. When he was done carving, he would stain the etching in green and cerulean dye, and pass the scrimshawed tusk on to Nettle for New Flood trading with the trolls.

There was a familiar scratching outside of his window, and then Halfkin flowed through, his white-streaked mane damp with rain.

Halfkin shook his head. "Not so bad," he said. "But the damp...the wolves are coughing."

Wolfstrider grimaced. Den cough. It spread through the pack every turn of the seasons. One night, a single wolf would develop a hacking cough, and by the next night, all of the wolves would have it. And sometimes it spread to the elves as well, especially when the rain was especially heavy for days on end, and the den-stores running lean.

Halfkin nodded. He settled on the bed and reached after his favourite of the bed furs. His golden eyes were heavy and half-lidded.

Wolfstrider shifted over to give his soul brother enough room. "You're early to bed," he said, putting down his carving knife and wrapping both the tusk and his knife in the apron-hide. "It's not dawn yet."

Wolfstrider rested a hand on his soul brother's shoulder for a moment, then put his carving away in its basket and rose to his feet. "Sleep easy," he wished Halfkin.

Halfkin didn't answer. For all Wolfstrider knew, his soul brother was asleep by the time the tracker had slipped out of the bedroom door.

Firemoss was exhausted. Even though her furs loomed lonely and empty over in the corner of the room, she was more than ready to crawl between them and drift off into dreamless sleep. Her hands ached, too: she'd spent far too long mashing apples today to make more cider vinegar since she'd used most of her stores washing off whitestripe stink. She'd pounded and mashed a good two baskets of stored apples until they were little more than bits of seed and pulp. Then, she'd strained the pulp through a cloth and into two clay pots. She'd stir the pots a little every day, and if all went well, they'd have more cider vinegar by the time Mother Moon was full again.

The plant shaper took one last look at the pots and tried to stretch the kinks out of her fingers once again. A yawn nearly split her face in two, and she decided then and there that sleep would wait no longer.

'Besides, maybe I can sleep soundly tonight,' she thought. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept the daylight through. If her body wanted to sleep, she wasn't about to complain! She took off the old berry stained tunic she had been wearing while working, kicked her leather den shoes over into the other corner, and climbed between the cool, soft furs that had been beckoning all evening. Her whole body exuded relief. Her eyes closed quickly of their own accord, and a peaceful blackness washed over her more quickly than she would have imagined.

The send entered the plant shaper's mind as though part of a half-dream. It was tinged with worry and a little impatience, and when it went unanswered, it was quickly repeated.

Despite her body's reluctance to stir, Firemoss forced herself to sit up. She squinted out into the near-darkness of pre-dawn to see a small form anxiously peering inside.

**No, she doesn't stink. That's all right for now. But her eyes are acting funny.**

Firemoss' brow furrowed at the strange news. **Acting funny? What do you mean?**

**They keep watering. One's swollen shut, too. Mother said that you might have something to put on her eyes to make them better.**

With that thought, Firemoss finally stood. **I have something. Give me a minute to mix it up and I'll go with you. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about.**

Echo waited outside the tree den as Firemoss dressed and searched her stores for something that would help. Swollen eyes weren't that uncommon of an occurrence in the wolf pack, and Firemoss decided a simple salve of blue thistle flower petals should do the trick to help get the swelling down. She quickly located a bunch among the countless flowers and herbs she had hanging in her den to dry, plucked a handful of blue petals, and crushed them with a pestle in a stone bowl. She added a bit of water from a waterskin she had handy and mixed the crushed petals into a fragrant pulp.

**All right, let's go,** the plant shaper said as she carried the medicine outside. Sleep would have to wait.

Lonewolf crouched beside his bond, shaking his head. **I told you, you should have stayed in the den, Bite.** He didn't know if the wolf actually understood his words. But he knew for a fact that she understood the concern they were laced with. He scratched her behind the ears and looked in to her eyes. They were weepy. Not much, but still.

Bite had started coughing two days before. She was far from the only wolf in the pack, Lonewolf knew. But den cough was nothing new. Most of the wolves came down with it every turn of season. But still he couldn't help but to worry a little over her. He knew that sometimes, on the rare occasion, den cough could develop into something worse, and even if it didn't, the cough in and of itself was unpleasant enough to warrant feeling bad for his bond.

The elf petted his wolf-friend. **Go back, Bite. Go to the den,** he sent, pointing in the direction he wanted her to go. The wolf whined in reply. **Don't argue with me.** Lonewolf paused to wipe some eyesnot from Bite's eyes. Once again, he was unsure of how much of what he sent the she wolf understood. But he knew she understood emotions and attitudes.

**Go and rest, my friend. You are not well. You need some rest,** he sent along with a wave of compassion and concern. **Besides,** he added in an attempt to lighten the mood. **Your cough is scaring all the small game away. Go on. I promise I'll come by the den to share my kill with you.** Reluctantly the young wolf turned around and started trotting toward the wolf den.

Lonewolf stood and drew his fingers through his hair. He was worried. The elf's sketchy memory just barely allowed him to recall a dry season long past where some of the older wolves had almost died from a particularly nasty case of den cough, but he did remember it. True enough, Bite was young and strong, she'd pull through. He felt certain about that. But there were a number of aging wolves in the pack that were way past their prime. He worried more for them.

But illness was part of the Way. Disease culled the weak and made room for the yet-to-be-born. The Way was sometimes cruel but a wise Wolfrider accepted it for what it was.

Firemoss sighed as she went again through the familiar-becoming routine of dabbing thistle flower paste around Sunray's swollen eyes. The treatment was helping - the wolf's eyes weren't completely shut now, but Firemoss was dismayed to still see the puffiness and the persistent eye snot remain.

She was further discouraged when the wolf shook violently after she'd applied the last of the salve to its eyes and the medicine went flinging over the walls of the wolf den. Annoyed, she set the bowl containing the salve down at her side and glared at the wolf. For her anger and efforts, she didn't receive even a little sign of regret from Echo's companion. Instead, the ruddy-coloured wolf sat down unceremoniously and began to vigourously scratch behind an itchy ear.

"Is she doing better?" Echo had been watching over Firemoss' shoulder as the medicine was doled out, anxious about her wolf-friend's well-being.

"Some better, but not as good as I'd hoped. This paste usually does the trick. I'm wondering if I should try rinsing her eyes with clean water instead, though."

Echo was quick to suggest other remedies, too - ones that she knew would work. "I think I would rather see if Purehaven can help her. He could clear up her eyes right away."

"It's best not to tax our healer if there's no need," Firemoss replied. "Be patient - it's only been three days, and Sunray is improving. Just watch, in three more days, you won't even know something was wrong with her."

Echo sighed, crossed her arms, and sat back against the den wall. She still wasn't convinced that waiting was the best solution. "Why should we wait when he can help Sunray get better right now?"

The plant shaper leaned back, too, and smiled at the impatient youth. "Magic is a good thing, but it's not good to depend on it for everything. It's hard for you to understand now, I know, but trust me. Sunray will get better if I keep tending to her. If this paste doesn't work, I'll try something else. I've treated these things many times before."

One corner of Echo's mouth quirked upward as the young girl thought. She looked first at Sunray and then at Firemoss, though when she answered, she still didn't sound entirely convinced. "All right, but if her eyes aren't better in three days, can we talk to Purehaven, then?"

That answer seemed to satisfy Echo, and the girl reached over to give her wolf-friend a good scratching before she bounded out of the den in search of her age mates.

"I'm sick," Halfkin growled from his nest of bed furs. "But I'm not sick enough to drink that poison!"

Firemoss sat back, still holding the cup of willowbark tea she had offered him, while Wolfstrider ducked his head to hide his smile.

"Halfkin, you're running a fever. The tea will help reduce it. The sooner you drink this, and the more of it you drink, the sooner you'll be feeling better."

**Father!** blazed an open sending from Beechnut, interrupting whatever other protest Halfkin would have made. **Hurry, it's Preystinger and he's in a bad way! Hurry, hurry, hurry-**

The bed furs flew one direction, and Halfkin went the other. The grizzled hunter disappeared out of the window with a rustle of claws against bark.

"Might be an easier patient if he did," Wolfstrider muttered, holding aside the door curtain for her.

The two elves hurried down the long, spiraling stairs through the hometree, then ran after Halfkin when they got outside. Beechnut's sending continued, an open, vivid welter of confused images and her own fear. **Diarrhea-stink and sick-wolf scent, Preystinger down on his side and thrashing like a crippled snake; Lionheart somewhere behind her in the darkness, and Firefur staggering drunkenly into her, getting in her way as she tried to hold Preystinger down before he hurt himself-**

"Cursed cub will lose her arm doing that!" Wolfstrider breathed, only a stride behind Firemoss as she reached the stair-steps up the plateau to the wolf caves.

Halfkin was far ahead of them, and had disappeared into the wolf caves by the time Firemoss and Wolfstrider reached the plateau. Others followed beneath them, heading up the stairs toward the wolf dens in wake of Beechnut's tribe-wide alarm.

There was the scent of blood mixed in the fetid stink of the caves. Firemoss plunged into the darkness there, her sharp eyes catching the paler glimpse of elf skin in that darkness.

Beechnut had gotten herself bitten. The girl was being held back by Lionheart, whose bare hand was pressed against a bleeding gash across the girl's forearm. Halfkin was at Preystinger's side. The wolf was thrashing in violent seizures, hind legs and fore legs galloping in separate directions as his jaws gnashed frantically. Blood splashed from the beast's torn gums and tongue, and there was a widening pool of urine and sickly yellow feces spreading beneath the wolf's hips. Halfkin was helpless to ease his wolf-friend's agony as the beast thrash and moaned on the stone cave floor.

Firemoss grabbed Lionheart with one hand, and Beechnut with other, and pulled them both out of the caves, leaving Wolfstrider to go to Halfkin's aid.

Outside, the cold rain fell on them. Beechnut was breathing in great, ragged breaths which weren't quite sobs. Lionheart still had his friend's arm, holding the deep wound closed. Firemoss tore off the leather headscarf she wore. "Sit," she ordered Beechnut. Both cubs sat, both looking pale with shock. Firemoss pushed aside Lionheart's hand to examine the girl's wound. The bite was deep. Firemoss wrapped her headscarf tightly around the wound, feeling suddenly faint herself. 'High Ones, please-' she breathed in silent prayer. 'Please, please, not the foaming sickness! Let Preystinger be sick with anything but that!'

Other tribe folk were arriving; a steady stream of them pouring off the plateau stairs. "Preystinger's gone mad," Lionheart said to the first arrivals, Lovemaker and Foxears.

"Halfkin and Wolfstrider are in there," Firemoss said, with a jerk of her chin toward the caves. "Stay out, give them room! If that wolf has foaming sickness, don't crowd it!"

"Get Purehaven up here!" Foxears called back, as other tribe folk began to crowd around them.

"Preystinger is having seizures," Firemoss reported. "Beechnut tried to restrain him and got bit. Halfkin and Wolfstrider are in the caves right now."

Wildstar's expression was immediately alarmed as she assessed the situation. The foaming sickness was a death sentence, for wolf and elf alike. If not caught early enough, Purehaven's healing talent couldn't save a victim of it. Wildstar's eyes shifted at once to Beechnut and Lionheart, seeing the blood on both of them, and the makeshift, red-stained bandage around Beechnut's forearm.

"I don't think it's the foaming sickness," Lionheart offered, his voice shaken. "There are other wolves sick, too. Firefur was having trouble walking, and Lonefang was sitting out in the rain, just shaking. But none of them were aggressive. They weren't acting crazy."

"Preystinger didn't mean to bite me," Beechnut added. "I was just trying to hold his head down so he wouldn't bite his tongue worse."

Purehaven arrived at that moment, making his way through the gathered crowd. Dawnmist was at his heels. They both flung themselves down beside Beechnut and Lionheart. Dawnmist embraced her daughter tightly, while Purehaven began to remove Firemoss' makeshift bandage.

"Preystinger's really sick," Beechnut said to the healer. The girl's tense shoulders relaxed visibly as Purehaven's hands pressed against her wounded arm; the deep bite wound began to seal closed, leaving only raw, pink skin behind. "So's Firefur and Lonefang. You've got to help them!"

Beechnut's desperate plea was followed a moment later by a cry of anguish. Then Halfkin's voice echoed out of the caves in a keening, mournful howl.

**Preystinger is dead,** the hunter's sending rang out. **My bond brother is dead.**

By moonrise, the scope of the emergency had grown apparent. Preystinger was dead already, and many more of the wolves were dangerously ill.

Boldscout's Firefur was among the worst off. The young wolf was carried out of the fetid caves and into the cold rain; her red fur was clotted with diarrhea and vomit, and her eyes were matted closed with mucus.

"What's wrong with her?" Boldscout demanded, as Lovemaker and Wolfstrider settled Firefur down in the half-shelter of the small mesa's few trees.

"Your wolf-friend is very ill," Lovemaker said quietly, stroking Firefur's head to comfort her. Boldscout flung himself down against the she-wolf's belly, hugging her tightly despite her soiled coat.

"I'll get fresh water and cleaning-hides," Wolfstrider said, turning toward the trail down to the Holt.

Dirk and Purehaven passed him on the stairs "Fix her!" Boldscout cried, his eyes lighting as he saw the healer. "Make her well!"

"It's not so easy when a wolf-friend is sick, as it is when a wolf-friend is injured," Purehaven said, kneeling beside Firefur as Dirk squatted on her haunches behind Boldscout. "An injury can simply be knit back together; with illness, I have to purge every tendril of sickness in every drop of blood in the body, then find every hiding-place in the body where a sickness will try to make a nest."

Purehaven took another look at the boy's flushed face. The child's eyes were bright with more than faith and unshed tears; his face was ruddy with more than emotion. Purehaven reached out and touched Boldscout's arm, and a pulse of his healing talent confirmed what his eyes had told him. Boldscout was running a fever - and a high one, at that.

The dark-haired huntress had already taken her son into her arms, although Boldscout was squirming in protest. **My son is ill,** she replied. **He woke this morning thirsty and ill-tempered. I was on my way to fetch you when Beechnut called us all up here.**

Boldscout managed to shake off the healer's hand. "Heal my wolf-friend!" he demanded. "Make Firefur well! I won't let you touch me again until you make her good again."

It was a stubborn bluff - in a battle of wills between mother and son, Purehaven had no doubt which would be victor. Dirk would have her child pinned helpless across her knees in an instant, if Purehaven requested it. But the healer gauged the ill wolf and the ill child together against the strength of his own talent, and made his own wager.

"Help keep your wolf-friend calm," he told Boldscout, addressing that sober young face directly. "This is going to feel strange to her, and she may not understand that I'm trying to help her," he said as he laid his hands on the she-wolf's sloping shoulder.

Boldscout nodded and moved to hug Firefur again, while the healer set to his work.

"The healer promises it's not the foaming sickness, but I'm still worried," grumbled Wise Elk to the other elders. Moonlight shone in through the windows of Firemoss' den, almost outshining the candles. "Preystinger's dead, and Firefur was staggering around like she'd swallowed dreamberries. It worries me."

"The rest of the pack is only coughing. We see den cough every Bloom Rest, and nothing much ever came of it before," said Woodsmoke reassuringly.

Firemoss looked worried. "Some of the wolves are doing more than just coughing. Sunray and Howler have high fevers and I think they aren't the only ones. Current can't even stand up. And now Halfkin is sick, with that half-wolf blood of his."

Woodsmoke frowned. "I thought Boldscout just had a cough. Cubs get sick all the time in Bloom Rest, just like the wolves always have a little den cough. Besides, we still don't know if what Halfkin has is the same thing as the wolves. Let's not jump to conclusions here; this has happened before, after all. Back when Soulseeker was chief-"

"That wasn't like this," interrupted Wise Elk. "The last time it was this bad was before you were born, during Latethaw's time."

Harmony chimed in, "You're talking about that Bloom Rest Foxkit, Butterfly and Otter died, right? That's the last time I remember the wolves being this sick."

"Oh, I remember. Those poor cubs," Firemoss said softly, lost in memory. "And Swancall was carrying an unborn one, too. She lost the child, and almost bled to death doing it."

"I dreamed this," she said in a choked voice. "Something big coming down onto the tribe. Something bad."

Woodsmoke paled, and quickly turned back to the others. "When those cubs died, was it the same thing the wolves had?"

"I think so," Wise Elk said. "In fact, I'm sure of it. It was coughing and fever, throwing up and bad muscle shakes. All the cubs got it."

"Plus a few of the strongest Hunt-blooded of us, but the two mothers-to-be and the cubs had it worst," added Firemoss. "I was young then, but I remember it clearly."

"And we lost half of the pack," added Harmony, the ghosts of old sadness misting her voice.

"And Wildstar's little unborn cub, too," replied Dreamshadow, "and Beechnut and Clover and Boldscout and Lionheart."

"We've lost Preystinger already. One is too many," said Wise Elk firmly. "We won't lose any more, whatever it takes. Are we agreed?"

All five elders looked at one another and nodded grimly. No word or sending was needed.

"More, if I know my soul-sister's daughter," Firemoss said dryly. "Leave it to me, though."

Wildstar paused in mid-sentence as Lonewolf's eyes shifted to focus from her tired, lined face to something behind her. Turning in her seat, her gaze followed his to find the tribe's elders advancing toward the pair, grim expressions set like stone upon each face. Wildstar sighed at the sight and wondered what new misfortune had descended upon the Holt now. As the group neared chieftess and mate, Firemoss stepped out from their ranks to speak.

"Wildstar, the elders have realized something important," the plant shaper stated. "This sickness might spread to the cubs."

Wildstar took in the words and their implication as she scanned the faces of the other elders standing firm behind Firemoss. She caught Wise Elk nod his head in agreement as her gaze swept over him.

"How sure are you?" the chieftess questioned. It was not that she didn't care for the safety of the youngest members of the tribe - quite the contrary - but she did not want to unnecessarily cause more grief if at all possible, and separating families would be hard upon everyone.

"It happened once before during Latethaw's time, when the wolves were this sick. We lost half of the wolf pack, and it spread to the tribe. The cubs came down with the worst of it, and we lost three of them," Firemoss replied.

Staring off across the Holt grounds, Wildstar turned the issues over in her mind. There was little choice in the matter, she knew. The cubs came first - they were the future of the tribe and in need of the greatest protection. Still, it was not an easy decision to make.

"All right," Wildstar finally responded, "We'll need to keep them away from the wolves, then. And Purehaven, too - if elves can come down with this sickness, we can't afford to lose our healer any more than the cubs."

A flicker of relief, mingled with hope, washed over the gathered elders' expressions, unseen by the chieftess, who was still silently contemplating the issues in an unsettled, far-off stare into the trees. Lonewolf was more vigilant, though. He shifted his stare between elders and chieftess and back again, piecing the connection Wildstar had obliviously missed.

**It will not be easy,** he lock sent to Firemoss. **She will not go willingly.**

"We'll gather the cubs and Purehaven up then," Wise Elk spoke up, concerned that allowing Wildstar more time to think on the matter might draw her to the same unspoken conclusion her lifemate had already arrived at. "We'll use the council den and send for you when the time comes."

Wildstar nodded in reply with a heavy sigh as the elders broke their formation and scattered to locate the quarantine victims. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, Lonewolf pulled his mate into a strong hug - it would be the last time he did so for a while, he knew.

"Echo, Clover, come with me, please," said Dreamshadow, catching the two cubs near the bottom of the plateau stairs.

"Never mind that now," said Dreamshadow gently but firmly. "Just come with me right now."

"But I'm not a cub!" Lionheart protested. "I've had my first hunt and I've found my soul name!"

"You're still young," retorted Woodsmoke. "The sickness won't care if you've had your first hunt or not."

"We need you to watch out for the cubs. If you are with them, Beechnut and the others will be more likely to behave themselves and not cause Purehaven any trouble."

The young elf frowned, but Woodsmoke's words seemed to make an impact. "All right, then," he said grudgingly.

Beechnut growled under her breath, annoyed by the elder's summons. She sat with Fearless in the small single-wolf den Fearless had dug for herself. It was a tight fit for them both - but at least the air wasn't foul, and the sandy soil of the den floor was clean. Beechnut sat with both arms wound around Fearless's shaggy neck, her ear pressed against the she-wolf's shoulder. Fearless's heart beat strong and true. But the she-wolf's eyes wept runnels of moisture, as had Preystinger's only a few days before.

**Beechnut,** the sending repeated - two minds now, and then a third and fourth joined the summons. **Beechnut, come now to the Elder Tree.**

Beechnut shivered. She looked outside of the den hole and saw her father, Halfkin, emerging from the dark, dank mouth of the central wolf cave. He looked haggard and at his strength's end. He sank down to sit on a nearby stone, ignoring the drizzle of rain.

Wolfstrider joined Halfkin a moment later, his expression worried. They spoke together for a moment, and then Halfkin heaved himself to his feet and led his friend back into the dens.

**Beechnut.** There was no way to deny she had heard the send. Beechnut sighed in defeat, and gave Fearless a last, tight embrace. She couldn't hide from the elders any more than she could protect her wolf-friend from the invisible threat of disease.

Wildstar and Lonewolf arrived at the Elder Tree's council den in time to see Dreamshadow, Harmony and Firemoss herding cubs inside. Purehaven and Wise Elk stood to one side, sending urgently back and forth, and Woodsmoke came up the other side of the tree with Lionheart.

"Good," began Wildstar briskly. "Purehaven, you'll stay with the cubs and keep them in here until the sickness is past. Lionheart, I know you aren't a cub anymore, but you need to stay here too. You can help the healer keep the cubs in line. Firemoss has already shaped the upper dens. You'll have the council den and the lower rooms. We'll bring you food and water; if there's anything else you need, just send and ask for it, and we'll get it to you."

Lionheart was scowling, but stepped into the council den without Woodsmoke's prompting. Purehaven followed, although not without a reluctant glance at his chieftess. The cubs didn't protest - Wildstar suspected they didn't fully comprehend. Wildstar turned toward Firemoss, thinking it would be best for the plant shaper to shape the quarantine den closed before the children had figured the situation out.

Wildstar found Firemoss standing right behind her; the other elders had shifted position as well in the Elder Tree's narrow spiral of a stairway, making a tight ring at Wildstar's back. Wildstar's brows furrowed in confusion for one moment, then shot up in shock.

"You're not serious!" Wildstar exclaimed. "You're not keeping me in there! I'm pregnant, not dead!"

"The sickness also affects unborn cubs," Firemoss said grimly. "And their mothers."

Though her heart quickened at that thought, Wildstar's eyes narrowed. "How am I supposed to lead a tribe trapped in a tree with a bunch of milk-toothed cubs?" she demanded. "So I'll stay away from the wolf dens."

"It's not enough. I'm sorry, but we can't risk depriving the tribe of two chiefs," Dreamshadow said, her normally gentle face set implacably.

The already small circle tightened as the elders advanced on their chieftess, who glared at them with skyfire spitting from her eyes and the look of a feral, trapped animal. Slipping in from behind, Wise Elk looped his thick arms around Wildstar's chest, flatting her own arms to her sides, and lifted her from the ground. Wildstar exploded, a howl of pure outrage ripping free of her throat as she thrashed and kicked violently with all her strength, threatening to tumble the pair down the winding passage way as Wise Elk dragged her backward into the quarantine den where the previously melancholy cubs now stood in shocked amazement at the display playing out before their young eyes.

A dark-haired figure pushed through the crowd and within heartbeats Lonewolf stood before his enraged mate.

**Let her go,** he sent to Wise Elk, his demeanor eerily controlled, despite the situation.

"She's at risk; she needs to stay safe in here until the sickness passes!" Wise Elk's stern reply came, punctuated by his struggles to keep hold of Wildstar's spitting, kicking, clawing form.

**I know, now let her go.** Again Lonewolf's sending was controlled and firm. His still-new position in the tribe as chief's mate was not lost on those gathered, but there was something about the certainty of his sending that made the others pause.

Slowly, reluctantly, Wise Elk set an indigent Wildstar back on her own two feet. She whirled upon the elder tanner like one of the great wind cones that tore through the canyons during Storm Rage, the back of her fist cracking resoundingly against his bearded jaw. A shrill gasp rose from the watching cubs inside the den.

**How dare you!** Wildstar sent with pure, unbridled loathing. Turning again, she faced the rest of the gathered elders **How dare ANY of you!**

Now it was her turn to advance upon them; a small, wicked sense of satisfaction rushed through her at the concerned looks upon the elders' faces and the glances of new uncertainty running among them. She would tear them limb from limb, every last one of them, just as she had promised, for this insult.

But once again her steps were cut off, this time by Lonewolf. Growling in irritation, Wildstar jerked her arm toward her own mate as well - none would stand between her and a challenge.

Anticipation stirred quick reflexes, and Lonewolf's calloused hand caught Wildstar's arm just short of hitting its mark. In one fluid movement, he yanked upon her caught arm, pulling her into his embrace and locked eyes with her in a manner strongly reminiscent of their Recognition.

**Please, Zoe,** he lock sent to her, his mind voice filled with an unspoken depth of concern that stirred her private essence and worked to soothe her ire. **Please, though it is far beneath you, do this - for me; for our cub.**

Wildstar could not deny the sincerity in his eyes, nor his sending. Time slipped by painfully slowly to the on-lookers as the couple stood together, locked in an intimate, private debate, the final result still anyone's guess.

Finally, Wildstar pulled herself free of Lonewolf's loosening grasp. **I do this for you, Ojdo - you and our cub, alone,** she stated. Lonewolf nodded obediently.

Twisting back to the collected elders, Wildstar's gaze returned to its previous, stony glare. "I haven't finished with the lot of you," she growled before turning on her heel and marching defiantly into the quarantine den, scattering gawking cubs and healer alike in her wake.

"And someone bring me my knapping stones," she barked, dropping onto a cushion of stuffed furs in the process. "If I'm going to be trapped in this thrice-cursed den, I want to be useful somehow."

"Firemoss, make sure to shape the windows so they're too small for anybody to get out," Woodsmoke suggested. "And chieftess - we'll leave the door if you promise not to try escaping."

A sneer curled upon the chieftess' lip at the elder's comments but she bit it back with her last remaining shred of dignity and waited for Lonewolf to fetch her work tools.

The elders summoned the rest of the tribe; they gathered at the base Wise Elk's hometree, a wary, silent crowd. Only two of their number was missing - Surefire and Foxears had left at dusk to go hunting. They were returning to the holt now, having been called back by the elders, but it would be hours yet before they arrived.

"Preystinger is dead, and others are getting worse by the hour!" cried Smokepath. "Curljoy isn't able to stand and she breathes like she's choking. But when I called for Purehaven to come help her, he said you've got him locked up!"

"We've asked Purehaven to go into quarantine," Wise Elk continued. "Along with the cubs, and our chieftess as well. This isn't just den cough, as we see it every turn. This is something much worse. The tribe has seen it before, and it killed more than just our wolves the last time this sickness was in the woods."

There was a quiet murmur of dismay at his words. "When?" asked Lovemaker, rubbing his chin-hair thoughtfully.

"Before you or Wolfstrider were born," Wise Elk said. "During Latethaw's turns as chief. Last time we saw this, more than half of the wolf pack died, and four elf cubs with them."

There were nervous looks exchanged among tribe members as their elders' words sank in. "What are we to do, then?" said Tendril.

"The best we can," Wise Elk answered. "Purehaven needs to stay in quarantine, along with Wildstar and the cubs. Above all else, we cannot risk losing them. They are not to leave the quarantine tree until we elders agree that it's safe for them to do so again."

"How dangerous is this sickness?" Colorcast asked. "How bad is this going to be?"

"We don't know," Firemoss said. "The wolves and the rest of us out here will need to rely on herbal treatments. Tendril and Dawnmist, we need to pool what resources we have. Certainly, you all know this is the worst time of the worst season for us to need herbals, but I'm confident that among the three of us, we've got a good-sized store of herbs."

"When the tribe went through this before, the youngest cubs and those with the most wolf-blood were the ones who were sickest," Harmony said.

"It'll take something worse than this to take Halfkin down," Woodsmoke said with a grin. "Boldscout and Echo were both showing signs of illness, but they're with Purehaven now. He's strong enough to heal them both, as well as protect Wildstar, her babe, and the rest of the cubs."

"The best we can," Wise Elk repeated. "Wildstar still leads the tribe from quarantine. We elders will only serve as her eyes and ears. Firemoss, with her herbal knowledge, will serve as our healer. She will teach the rest of us what we need to do for ourselves and for our wolf-friends. Snowspear will direct the Hunt, as always. The rest of us need to stay close to the Holt and to use our wits."

**We have enough trouble,** Wildstar sent openly then, her mind-touch sharp with controlled frustration. **I'll skin anyone who stupidly causes us more of it. I don't want anyone wandering off; I don't want anyone hunting solo beyond a night's walk from the hometrees. Does everyone understand me?**

There was a wordless flow of acknowledgement. Wise Elk crossed his arms over his chest and regarded the gathering of his kin with a wry smile. "We'll get through this," he said. "We need everyone to be smart, be calm, and by no means is anyone to go wandering off to look for flowers or see what your secret human friends may be up to during Bloom Rest," he added with a knowing wink for no one elf in particular. "Since everyone understand that clearly, let me ask - does anyone feel feverish, or feel sick in any way?"

There was a moment of silence, and tribe members eyed one another, waiting for someone to speak up.

"My throat is sore," offered Slingstone cautiously. "I don't really feel sick, but my throat is raw and sore."

"Chamomile tea with honey for you then," Firemoss said in a cheerful tone. "Come to my work den soon, and I'll have some brewed for you."

There was no response to that. Wise Elk and Firemoss traded a glance, and then Firemoss nodded. "Good," she said. "Now, about the wolves. So many of the wolves are sick, I'm going to need helpers - both to treat the wolves and to muck out the dens. We can't leave sick wolves to wallow in their own filth. So who wants to volunteer?"

There was an awkward shuffling of feet, and more cautious glances traded among the gathering of elves. "I will," Woodsmoke said then.

"After raising three cubs, a den full of vomit and dung isn't enough to scare me," said Smokepath. "Or my mate, either," she added, with a quirk of a smile at Lovemaker.

"That's enough to start with," Wise Elk said. "Does anyone have any questions?" He waited. There were none. "Good enough," the tanner said. "I know Firemoss needs help with the wolves up in the wolf caves, so Firemoss, gather your helpers and get them started."

Firemoss gagged and tried to fight a feeling of nausea as she shuffled about the wolf dens. She'd smelled plenty of foul things in her long life - from a noseful of white stripe to countless numbers of unpleasant smelling herbal brews - but the overwhelming smell of sickness here was almost too much. She swallowed hard and willed the queasiness from her stomach. She knew she would be spending a lot of her time here from now on; it wouldn't do to let herself get sick from the smell. Glancing up at the faces of those who were filing into the dens one by one, she took comfort from the fact that she was not the only one affected by the stench. Crinkled noses and the slightly pale shades some of the volunteers were turning told Firemoss that others were feeling as queasy as she was. She was also glad to see that more volunteers had followed her to the wolf caves - in addition to Woodsmoke and Dreamshadow, Halfkin, Wolfstrider, Smokepath and Lovemaker, Dreamberry, Lark, Mystic and Colorcast had joined her.

"I'm going to make a thick paste of mint to put under our noses," she finally blurted. "I'm sure we'll get used to this stink over time, but it will help in the meantime. I'll make some up as soon as I'm finished here."

There were various mumbles of gratefulness as Firemoss stood and stepped over to Sunray. The young wolf was clearly dreadfully ill, and seemed to be one of the bonds in most need of attention. Firemoss figured this would be as good a place to start as any. Besides, a young wolf like this would be one of the harder ones to treat. Best to make a difficult patient an example so as not to lull the others into a sense of security. She gently stroked Sunray's side, and the wolf's tail thumped once, weakly, in response.

"Dosing a wolf isn't easy," Firemoss began, but paused after that to search for the right words to continue. "Some of what we want to feed them doesn't taste very good, and some of them are getting to a point where they're getting too weak to swallow. We have to force the brew down their throats."

There were more nods and murmurs from the gathered elves as Firemoss' gaze swept across their faces. Most had never seen a wolf forced to drink one of the plant shaper's brews before, but they had been witness enough times to the ordeal of trying to put a salve in a wolf-friend's ears or eyes.

Woodsmoke was the first to step forward. He moved to Sunray's side, leaned forward and placed his hands on the wolf's middle to hold her down.

"No, you'll probably have to lay on top of her - she looks weak, but she's going to put up a fight."

Woodsmoke did as he was told, and Firemoss reached for a length of sinewy string she had on hand. She lifted Sunray's head and let the wolf lay on her lap. She stroked the wolf's chin for a moment then asked Woodsmoke if he was ready. He nodded.

Firemoss leaned down across Sunray, using her stronger right arm to hold the wolf's neck, and quickly began to wrap the sinew around Sunray's muzzle. The wolf began to thrash to try to break free from the elves holding her down, and was nearly successful a time or two before Firemoss had the sinew firmly tied in place. Only when both elves released their hold did Sunray stop struggling.

Firemoss was somewhat out of breath from the effort, but spoke anyway. "The sinew will keep the wolf from biting you. We don't want anyone getting bitten if we can help it. Watch your fingers when you go to tie their mouth closed."

Colorcast shook her head. She and some of the others hadn't quite expected to see Sunray put up such a fight. "If their mouth is tied shut, how are we supposed to pour the medicine down their throats?"

Firemoss straightened slightly. "That's why you make sure you tie it at the top of the muzzle, as far from the nose-end as possible. You get around the problem of the mouth being closed with this." She reached for a long, thin wooden tube. It was thin on one end, but very wide on the other - an implement she'd shaped some time ago.

"It's something I use to help pour brews from large pots into smaller pots. Your pour the liquid into he wide end and it funnels down to the small end below. It helps keep everything from spilling all over the place."

As she spoke, Firemoss moved a small clay pot full of warm liquid closer to her. Then, leaning forward to put her weight back on Sunray again, she inserted the small end of the funnel between the wolf's lips.

Once again, things went from calmness to chaos. Sunray started thrashing again no sooner than Woodsmoke had laid his weight back on her. It took all of Firemoss' strength to hold down Sunray's head, balance the dosing tube, and tip some of the liquid from the clay pot into the funnel. When the warm brew seeped into Sunray's mouth, she she-wolf started bucking all the more.

Firemoss franticly set the still-somewhat-full pot aside and dropped the dosing tube as Sunray sputtered and choked, spewing medicine everywhere. The plant shaper rubbed the she-wolf's throat, enticing her to swallow. After many agonizing moments of effort, Sunray did so.

**There, it's done,** Firemoss sent, straightening and wiping drops of sweat and spittle from her brow. Her mind voice was eerily calm, though her demeanour wouldn't have conveyed the fact that she was.

Woodsmoke rose, looking fazed as well. "We have to treat all the wolves like this? It's going to take a half day just to get a hand of them to swallow their medicine."

"Some wolves will be easier to dose than others," the plant shaper replied, cutting the sinew from Sunray's muzzle with her knife. The wolf gaped her jaw and licked her chops, happy at last to be rid of the offending string. "But, no, this won't be easy. Some wolves - most of the wolves - will put up a fight just like this one. And once they catch on to what we're trying to do, they'll try harder to throw us off. But this is the only chance we have. That's why we need to split up into groups." The plant shaper gently rested Sunray's head on the smooth floor of the den and rose to continue giving her orders. "Groups of two - one to hold and one to give the medicine."

**I'll pair with you, Firemoss,** Mystic sent, **since I'll be helping you make the brews anyway. When I'm not needed in your den, I can help out here.**

"Dearheart, you're mine," Lovemaker said, slipping an arm around his lifemate Smokepath's hips. "You can hold them down for weak little me."

"Woodsmoke and I make a good pair," Dreamshadow said. "I can handle the dosing if he can hold the wolves down."

**I don't need a partner to make the wolves do what needs doing,** Halfkin sent, his sending fever-touched but determined.

"You might not, but I will," Wolfstrider said. "I can hold one down if someone else wants to pour for me."

"I will." Colorcast had stepped forward. "We're going to need a lot of string if we have to cut it off after each dosing. Father and I both have more if it's needed."

Firemoss managed a smile. "Yes. Good." As Colorcast ran off to the tree dens to collect the supplies, Firemoss continued. "That leaves you, Lark and Dreamberry."

"Or she and I can switch off if we need to," Lark added, moving closer to the howl keeper.

Firemoss nodded. "It's settled, then. I've got enough goldenseal tea brewed up right now to dose the rest of the wolves. And I have a few extras of the dosing tubes. I'll get those from my den and we can start treating right away."

"We'll give the goldenseal tea twice a day, and some of the wolves that are worse off with coughing might get a dose or two of chamomile tea. It will depend on the wolf," Firemoss answered, and a number of the volunteers nodded solemnly. They all realized what that meant - dosing the wolves would take most of the elves' free time. But they also knew this was the only chance they had.

"Mystic, come with me to get the supplies. While we're gone, the rest of you can divide the wolves up into groups, too. It would be best if the same pair treated the same wolves each time, if possible. And we really need to start cleaning�"

"Right!" agreed Smokepath, with a determined sparkle in her eyes. "Elder, go and get your brews. Once we've got the wolves dosed, then we'll get to scrubbing."

"And see to what else needs to be done," added Woodsmoke, who was looking around the dens critically.

Firemoss ducked out of the smelly wolf dens to breathe deeply of the fresh, humid air outside. She'd knew she'd be breathing in the stench within the wolf dens all too soon again and chose to relish what little time she'd have in the open today. With that thought, she picked up her pace and jogged with Mystic back to her tree home. There was a battle to be fought here - a battle to save the wolves, the sick elves, and to protect the chieftess and the children. Firemoss was determined that it was going to be a battle the tribe would win.

"Here's what we need," he told Tendril, slapping the bulk of the fallen evergreen he stood next to. "Lonewolf, Wise Elk, Lovemaker, Wolfstrider and I dragged this closer to the dens. I need you to shape it into a low, long bucket."

"Holding water." Woodsmoke made a gesture over his shoulder, toward the wolf dens. "We've got a number of wolves in there too sick and weak to climb down the stairs to the river to drink. And the ancestors know, we'll need a lot of fresh water to clean with. I've got Birchbark and Colorcast combing the Holt for every spare waterskin they can find. We'll have a stash of them here, and a stash down at the bottom of the stairs, and everyone who comes up to tend to the wolves or comfort their wolf-friend will need to haul up a full waterskin or two, in order to keep this full."

Tendril nodded, seeing now what her elder was asking for. "I'll have it done before dawn," she promised.

Woodsmoke nodded and smiled, pressing the plant shaper's shoulder warmly before moving off to check on the rest of his forces.

Smokepath was firmly in control of her team of workers, who were scrubbing down the soiled wolf dens. Dawnmist was on hand to shape wooden shovels and scrape-brooms as they broke under their wielders efforts to get the foul job done.

"It only took a day or two for it to get this bad," moaned Dapple, who was stealing a moment to snatch a breath of fresh air. "But it'll take us days to muck it out."

"Nonsense," Smokepath said, collaring Woodsmoke as he arrived and pushing a rake into his hands. "We'll get the job done tonight. And after we've all rested up, we'll scrub down some of the wolves themselves. No one is going to let their sick wolf wallow in its own filth."

Dawn was breaking, and the last of the night's cleaning efforts had ended. The dens were as clean as the elves could get them, and all of the wolves that were showing any sign of the sickness had been dosed. Only a bare handful of the wolves weren't showing some sign of the illness, from coughing and rattling lungs to mucus around the eyes. Some of the wolves were showing signs of high fever or difficulty in walking, but their elfin friends had done as much as they currently could. All that could be done now was to watch, wait, and continue dosing with Firemoss' herbal remedies, no matter how reluctant the patient.

Halfkin was bedded down in the dens, with one of the nameless unbonded wolves on one side and his surviving bond Flashfur at his other. Halfkin dozed restlessly. His body burned with fever, and his belly griped irritably. By midday, he knew he'd be passing the same loose, liquid feces the wolves had fouled their dens with.

There was a stirring nearby, and Halfkin could make out the now-familiar sounds of footsteps echoing across the rough stone of the wolf den floors. He didn't have to see the figure to know that Firemoss was approaching - more than likely with more medicine in hand. He shuddered at the mere thought of having to choke down another foul-tasting, foul-smelling brew again. The herbalist had tried dumping a good variety of remedies down his throat to get his fever down or to stop this cursed coughing, and each new one tasted worse than the last.

That thought was still in his head as the light-haired herbalist ducked into the den with a bowl and a jar in hand. "How are you feeling this evening, Halfkin?"

There was no spoken reply, rather a semi-growled grunt that ended in a fit of coughing so violent it rattled the male's ribcage. Firemoss shook her head as she assessed him. His cough sounded worse and he was shivering from fever. "Your running around instead of resting isn't doing you any good," she scolded. "We have enough hands to tend to the wolves, and you need your rest. Why not go to Wolfstrider's den and get some sleep?"

"I'm not going to hole myself up in some den when the wolves need looking after!" he snapped back. Speaking aggravated the rawness of his throat, but he held off the fit of coughing long enough to finish speaking his mind. "Preystinger is dead. I'm not going to just lay around if I can make sure another wolf doesn't have to go through that, too."

"I don't see how your dragging yourself around the dens when you're sick with fever yourself is helping us or the wolves. You're shaking with fever; your coughing sounds worse than some of the wolves'. You'll be more of a help if you get yourself well."

"How am I not helping now? You have an extra hand to dump those High Ones-forsaken brews down their throats. The wolves have my company when the rest of you go back to your dens. I help them just by being here, and I won't leave them alone just because I have a cough!"

Firemoss frowned. She almost said, "A cough and a fever," but bit her tongue. She was tired of arguing, and it was obvious Halfkin wasn't going to listen to common sense. At the very least, he had stopped putting up a fight when she'd come to treat him in addition to the sick wolves.

She slowly let out the breath she'd held in and looked at the bowl she'd brought with her instead. She hadn't brought a brew this eve. Since Halfkin's fever had seemed to be raging of late, she'd brought a handful of whistling leaves in the hopes the purgative properties of the plant would do what her other remedies had not.

Halfkin was eyeing the bowl, too, and was relieved to see the leaves rather than some sickly-coloured liquid. When Firemoss offered him a handful, he took them without a word, and did as he was told when the plant shaper said to chew slowly and to swallow the juice, but not the leaves. While he chewed, Firemoss dipped a spoon into the jar she'd had tucked under her arm. Halfkin realized she'd brought beesweets when she lifted the spoon and it was covered with amber, sticky syrup. He reached for the spoon, but Firemoss held back.

"Chew the leaves some more first. You need to get as much out of them as you can."

Only when Halfkin had chewed until he was tired of doing so did Firemoss hand the beesweets to him. He spat the chewed bits of whistling leaves out and wasted no time eating the honey.

"I wouldn't have thought you'd have brought me beesweets," he rasped. Talking was easier now that he'd swallowed the honey. "It's a welcome change after the other things you've brought."

The corner of Firemoss' mouth quirked upward into a smile. "It's to help quiet your cough, I hope. It will keep your throat from feeling so raw." She gathered up both her bowl and the jar of honey before adding, "But don't get the impression I'm going to stop bringing you willow bark tea. It's still a bowl twice a day for you until you're better again."

Halfkin grunted and his face twisted up into a scowl at that comment. He never wanted to taste willow bark tea again.

The rhythmic clinking of stone against stone should have been soothing to Wildstar's ears but instead it only reinforced the eerie quiet that had fallen over the Holt since the quarantine had been enforced earlier that night. Her blood still boiled at the thought of those events. Anger welled up inside her chest, as it had done frequently over the night, and the chip of firestone cradled in her hand shattered from the force of an emotionally charged knapping; not for the first time this eve.

"Five-fingered fist!" Wildstar swore, dropping the shards to her feet as if they had been hot coals and shaking her hand in exasperation. Nothing was going well tonight - not with the tribe, not with the wolves, not even with her spearhead crafting. It was more than just anger, she knew. Beneath the tender surface of a wounded pride, fear tickled her stomach in an alarming fashion.

Setting down her knapping stone, Wildstar sighed and rubbed her temples. Leaning back against the den wall, she opened her eyes and gazed over the cubs and Purehaven, also confined to the tree. What would this sickness bode for her people? It was bad enough that the wolves were suffering from it - suffering and dying. What if the tribe also fell victim to it? She, Purehaven and the cubs might survive it, being locked away, but what of the others? Wildstar's stomach flitted uncomfortably under that thought.

Closing her eyes again, she silently willed that gruesome fate away - away from her thoughts and away from her tribe. Opening her eyes a second time, Wildstar was startled to find Boldscout standing hesitantly before her.

"You're not sick, are you?" he asked. His eyes were wide and round, a hint of timidity in his voice, quite uncharacteristic for the brash cubling.

Looking into those uncertain, scared eyes, Wildstar felt the anger inside her begin to ebb away. She couldn't blame Boldscout or the other cubs for feeling afraid - she felt it too and the outburst over the quarantine had surely only added to their fear.

The features of her face softening, Wildstar managed a smile at the young boy's concern for her. "No, I'm not sick, Boldscout, just tired," she replied.

Boldscout nodded in understanding but didn't turn away. Instead he remained standing in front of Wildstar, his face slightly screwed up as if in great thought, debating with himself in a private struggle. Finally, he asked:

"Why are you in here, Chieftess? Shouldn't you be out telling the others what to do?"

The soft chit-chat from the other cubs fell silent at the question, and though Wildstar didn't turn to look in their direction, she could tell all eyes were suddenly back on her. Her stomach swooned uneasily again as she contemplated the reasons for her isolation.

Reaching a hand up toward the cub, Wildstar beckoned him to her side. "Come, sit with me, Boldscout," she encouraged, patting the cushions on which she had nestled herself. Pausing only a heartbeat, Boldscout stepped forward and plopped himself down beside her.

Now at eye level with the boy, Wildstar watched him for a long moment, her gaze drifting in and out of focus as she thought how best to explain things to one so young. When she noticed that Boldscout had begun to fidget, she pulled her thoughts together and tried to put voice to them as best she could.

"You are right," she began, "a chief's place is at the front of the tribe, leading them forward always. It matters not if there is danger there, because the tribe is bigger than any one chief and the tribe comes first - the tribe is always first to the chief."

Boldscout leaned forward into Wildstar's words, soaking up the images that flowed from her mind into the surrounding den. The great chiefs of the tribe's past burst into life in Wildstar's vision - strong, noble and determined. They led the tribe through all manner of danger - searing fires, vicious predators, hateful humans - even the Mad One himself. It was the Way.

"This is my place," Wildstar continued, the image changing to incorporate her figure at the head of the tribe, "though I may fall because of it, if the tribe lives on then the cost is worth the price."

Boldscout's eyes grew wider as the meaning of Wildstar's words pieced itself together in his young mind; too young to fully comprehend such self-sacrifice. But only half the question had been answered.

Smiling at the shocked expression on the boy's face, Wildstar patted his arm comfortingly. "Fear not, cub, I'm not going anywhere for a while yet. But while I am strong and healthy, there is one I protect who is still very fragile and is at greatest risk to this sickness."

Boldscout blinked, pulling slightly back in confusion and brows furrowing in thought. "No name? You mean like the wolves in the pack without elf bonds?"

A chuckle bubbled up through Wildstar's throat as she thought about carrying one of the wolves in her slight belly. "No, not the wolves," Wildstar grinned. "Remember last Storm Rage when Lonewolf and I Recognized?"

"Well, when two elves Recognize, it is the Way's saying that a new cub is needed in the tribe. They join together and from their union comes a new life. But the new life that is the cub takes time to grow, and during that time it must be carefully guarded, especially from sickness and injury," Wildstar explained.

Lifting the boy's small hand, she gently laid it upon her stomach. It had been just over a turn of the seasons since she and Lonewolf had Recognized and the cub had just barely begun to show itself but it would still be a long time in coming, she knew. With her own hand atop Boldscout's, she pressed firmly down, then sought out the essence of life within herself and shared it with him.

Though still small now, the spirit stirred at the contact, pulsating in time with Wildstar's own heartbeat. She stroked it mentally, as she had done many times before in wonderment, relishing the quiet tranquility her unborn cub thrived in. How she wished she could provide that same safe haven for the rest of her people!

Opening her eyes, she found Boldscout struck silent, eyes bulging at the experience, and the other cubs drifting mutely into her presence, equally curious.

**Would you like to feel?** she sent to the group, and she soon found herself covered in eager, miniature hands in answer. Her eyes twinkled as she locked gazes with Purehaven nearby and opened her sending to encompass the entire den.

"Will it get any bigger before it's born?" Boldscout asked, never having experienced a birth in the tribe before.

"When will it be born?" the boy continued, now happily distracted from the quarantine by this rare event.

"Around the time of New Flood after another turn of seasons," Wildstar answered.

"I'm afraid so," Wildstar grinned. She, more than anyone else, knew the anxiety of waiting.

"Will it be another boy?" Boldscout perked up, finding something to get excited about again.

"I don't know," Wildstar replied. "It might be a boy or a girl - only the High Ones know for sure."

"I hope it's a girl," Echo said wistfully, softly petting Wildstar's stomach as she would one of the wolves.

Wildstar chuckled to herself at that. The cubs, however, seemed to have an endless flow of questions - like a rain of arrows in the air - and she struggled to keep up with answering them all. Her mind boggled at the sheer volume of 'why's, 'what's and 'how's that sprang to their minds and out their mouths, and she laughed at a good many in turn. But eventually exhaustion won over and one by one, the cubs began to drift off to sleep and quiet descended upon the den once more.

Foxears finished pulling on a clean tunic, his other one having been fouled during the evening's hunt with Slingstone. He and Slingstone had only just returned from their foray, and Foxears had delayed from racing up to the wolf caves only long enough to hug his lifemate to him, and to wriggle out of his gore-stained clothing.

"I mean that," Lark said, her voice strained. "You are not going up to the wolf caves tonight."

Foxears turned to his lifemate in bewilderment, certain the sound of leather being pulled over his ears must have made him misunderstand her. "Shagtop's ill, and so is Coldfur-"

Lark stood her ground, her slender form squarely blocking the archway of the den-room entrance. "You are Hunt blooded. You are not going up there."

Foxears rubbed one ear, still suspecting his hearing. "Of course I'm going to go up to the wolf caves. My wolf-brother is up there," he said. "Shagtop needs me. Other wolves are sick and dying."

"You will not." Lark's blue eyes were as hard as shale. "I will not allow it. You cannot. You are Hunt blooded. You'll get sick if you go up there."

"I might. I might not. I might fall out of a tree tomorrow and break my neck, but that's no reason to stay abed all day."

**You are not going up to the wolf caves!** Lark's sending blazed with fierce determination, and Foxears felt the underlying foundation of his lifemate's fear. **I will not allow you to get sick and die!**

"I'm not going to get sick and die!" Foxears replied in exasperation. "Look at Halfkin. He's not dying, is he?"

Lark was physically blocking the doorway. Foxears stood his ground and scowled at her, growing impatient with this nonsense. "I'm no cub," he replied. "I'm not a child who needs to be protected. Step aside, love. Shagtop needs me-"

**You will not!** Her sending flamed through his mind, as hot and searing as a wildfire. **If you leave this den now for the wolves, you will not come back to it.**

**I mean it, Sle. If you leave me now for the wolf caves, you will never be welcome back in my hometree. You will be safe - or I will not have you!**

Foxears slammed a fist into the side of the wall, his own temper snapping like a dry bone. "Deer pellets! You are demanding I choose between you and my wolf? Nlis, don't be a fool! Shagtop is sick, and he needs me right now!"

Lark's blue eyes were narrow with threat. **I need you more, Sle. You will stay with me. You will not go to the wolf dens. Not unless you want another's bedfurs to share, because you will never again be welcome in mine.**

**Nlis, don't you dare make such a demand!** he shot back. **Shagtop is my wolf-brother, my partner in the hunt! You can't expect me to abandon him now, when he needs me!**

**I can. And I do. Sle, there will always be other wolves for you. I am your Recognized. I will not lose you.**

Foxears growled and pushed past her through the door. He climbed out onto the thick branch that grew beneath their den's archway, and stalked along its length. He felt his Recognized's soul-touch hovering within his own mind, and roasted her with his frustration and outrage at such an unreasonable demand. His wolf was sick. And she expected him to hide in his bedfurs and leave his wolf-brother's care to another?

The wide branch met the juncture where the rope-bridge started, joining their hometree to their nearest neighbour's. Foxears was a step away from that arboreal crossroads when his lifemate spoke again. **Sle, if you leave now, you will never be welcome back!** she sent, her determination an icy blade that sliced through his own roiling emotions.

Foxears stopped as if frozen. **Do not make me choose between you!** he cried in exasperation. **Nlis, don't be so cruel!**

**The choice is yours, Recognized. I will have you safe, or I will not have you at all. Make your own choice. Step forward - or step back.**

Foxears snarled and slammed an impotent fist against a nearby branch. He stood there motionless, sucking in angry breaths of cold, night air, then reached after Shagtop. His wolf-friend was sleeping restlessly, his mind-touch a feverish roiling of wolf images and emotions. Shagtop was ill, and other members of the pack had already died of the season's plague.

Foxears knew where he was most needed. He turned and gave his Recognized a single, burning look. Then he turned around again and, moving cat-silent, trotted away toward the wolf dens.

Firemoss' brow crinkled as she stood staring at the makeshift rafters of her workroom. The shaped ceiling used to be obscured by the sheer number of dried plants she'd kept stored above, but no longer. Her supply was growing threadbare; if she didn't find some way to get more herbs, there would be nothing left to treat the sick. But what could she possibly find this time of year?

She frowned as she scanned the rafters again, and chose half as much goldenseal as she usually did to make the next brew. As much as she hated to, she had to ration. She knew that a weaker tea wouldn't be as effective as a strongly-brewed one, but there was little choice. She'd have to try to compensate by letting the brews steep a little longer. At the rate her herbs were being consumed, she wouldn't have enough left to last past another two hands of days.

By the end of the second night of the outbreak, Firemoss' team of workers had the wolf dens as scrubbed out as was possible, and the air stank only of sick wolf, and worried elf-friend. And those who couldn't care for their own wolf-friends had tribe mates who were willing to help out.

"Careful," Colorcast said, eyeing Howler warily. The leader of the wolf pack had learned what it meant when he was approached by someone carrying a waterskin that smelled of Firemoss' herbal teas, and sick though he was, the old alpha wolf wasn't about to take his medicine without a fight.

Wolfstrider approached Wildstar's wolf gingerly, holding the braided strip of rawhide before him. "This won't work more than once, not on Howler," he said. The pack leader backed up a step and growled at him, bared teeth showing bright in the dimly lit cavern. Wolfstrider turned his head, purposely avoiding the beast's dominant stare. When Howler rumbled at him again, the scout went down to his knees, and then over onto his back, belly and neck exposed.

The old wolf chuffed once and nosed at his subservient offering, taking it as his due as alpha male of the pack. Wolfstrider had been waiting for that moment. Before the old wolf had realized his danger, Wolfstrider had the loop-end of his rawhide rope around the wolf's muzzle, and yanked the rope taut. Then he grabbed for Howler's neck and twisted the wolf off balance, long enough to wrestle the sick old wolf to the ground.

"Hurry!" Wolfstrider cried, leveraging his weight over Howler's prone body. The furious wolf bucked and snarled, but Colorcast darted in and shoved the carved wooden snout of the waterskin between the wolf's lips, at the very edge of his mouth. Howler kicked and thrashed, raking Wolfstrider with his claws. The hunter grunted and hung on, as Colorcast squeezed the bladder, shooting a stream of the herbal tea down Howler's throat. The wolf fought them, spitting out just as much as he swallowed, but the dose would have to be enough.

"This is for your own good!" Colorcast tried to explain to Howler, but the wolf snarled and fought. As soon as the bladder was squeezed empty, Colorcast retreated for higher ground. Wolfstrider yanked the muzzle-restraint loose and scrambled to follow. Howler surged to his feet and lunged after his assaulters. The old pack leader hit Wolfstrider on his shoulder and knocked the elf hard against the boulder Colorcast had taken refuge on top. Wolfstrider offered his neck to the pack leader again and tried to placate the furious wolf with a cubling's whimper, but Howler would have none of that. Howler closed his jaws around Wolfstrider's bared neck and snarled in full, furious threat.

Teeth scored against skin, and the wolf's breath was dank and hot. Wolfstrider had a moment's shocked conviction that the old wolf would actually make good on the threat and that he was about to die - and then the pressure relented. Howler let him go. With his head and tail high and legs stiff in a dominant wolf's stride, the pack leader stepped away, dignity intact despite insolent mistreatment from a pair of two-legged pups. Howler was confident that he had shown them who was still top wolf in the pack.

Colorcast slid down from safety and cautiously helped Wolfstrider to his feet. "You all right?"

Wolfstrider touched the tooth marks on his neck, then grimaced at the spots of blood on his fingertips. "I don't care what he says next time," Wolfstrider muttered. "When Howler needs his next dose, it's Halfkin's turn."

"Current!" Harmony cried, hugging her wolf-friend tightly. Current was coughing raggedly, and her mouth had begun to foam red. **Current! Wolf-friend!** Harmony lock sent. **Don't let death take you! Don't you dare leave me!**

The wolf's body was limp; the disease had clearly overwhelmed her. The wolf whimpered and struggled for breath, her image-rich wolf-thought as fractured as sunlight refracting from the surface of a river. **-water rushing, crisp-wind-scent, need air - need air - need air, water flowing, moonlight-on-river foam swirling in an eddy, wolf-pack calling from distant shore-** Current's muscles spasmed with effort, and her paws twitched like a kitten's, wading at empty nothing.

Harmony's cheeks were streaked with tears. She closed her eyes and pressed her brow against the she-wolf's wide forehead. This wasn't the first wolf-friend Harmony had lost over her long, long life. She knew what she had to do. She closed her eyes and embraced her wolf-friend with every ounce of strength she had; head, hand and heart. **Run, Current. Run. The spirit pack is calling you. Run to them, my love.**

The she-wolf's paws padded at the air again, before the wolf's yellow eyes half-slid shut. The wolf exhaled a last, sighing breath, and then went still, her weight suddenly heavy in Harmony's arms. Harmony felt her wolf's release, envisioning with her mind's eye the spirit form of her wolf-friend shimmer, lighten and begin to step away from itself. **Be free. Run to your kin, they'll be waiting for you.**

By the next day, the tribe was down to the last bare bones of the Hunt's last kill. The elves and wolves alike were in need of fresh meat.

Snowspear stood with her arms crossed over her chest and gazed at her gathered hunters with a frown. "Less than two hands of us, and some of you not fit to be on your feet," she said with a scowl. "When Rock comes back, if Dreamberry doesn't kick his tail halfway to the moon and back, I will."

That earned some weary smiles from the gathered members of the Hunt. Snowspear, Snowsoft, Dirk, Slingstone, Foxears and Wolfstrider stood together in a ragged half-circle, each armed with their hunting weapons and dressed in their warmest.

"We're low on meat," Snowspear said unnecessarily. "And without the pack to run with us, it's going to be a hard hunt."

**The wolves need red meat for strength,** Snowsoft sent openly. **We can survive on what the fishers and gatherers can bring in, but the wolves need good red meat.**

"I've got rope," Foxears said, patting the coil he wore looped over one shoulder. "We can build a travois and haul back whatever we find."

Snowspear nodded firm approval of that. "We go toward the open grass, then. Wolfstrider's last patrol toward the hub-star indicated there were Land Lopers straying into the forest. The last thing we need now is a tangle with the humans-"

There was a rustle of leathers, and Halfkin slunk through the trees to join the small gathering. The shaggy-maned elf looked wan and haggard, but he was dressed in his winter gear, and carried his javelin with confidence.

"You look hardly fit to be on your feet," Snowspear said, eyeing him critically. "No way you're going on this hunt, wolf-talker."

"I'm able," Halfkin growled back at her. "As long as I've the strength to stand, I've the strength to be the best hunter in this tribe."

Snowspear snorted at that, then smirked grudgingly. "This isn't going to be a simple night's jaunt, Halfkin. The Hunt will be afoot and walking for all night and all day. We'll be hunting the far borders. We're going to have our hands full enough as it is. We don't need the added worry of having to haul your narrow tail home if you falter on us."

Halfkin growled at that assessment, but Snowspear ignored the challenge that entered the set of his stiff shoulders. "I've got a worse duty in mind for you, wolf-talker," the leader of the Hunt said. "With the wolf pack laying a-den like this, the tribe is without half of its eyes, ears, noses and fighting strength. The holt needs guards more than ever. You've the sharpest nose in the tribe, wolf-talker. You stay here, and oversee scouts and guards being set around the holt. Wolfstrider, you too. We need meat, but even more, we need our kin and cubs kept safe."

Wolfstrider was frowning but didn't argue the assignment. Halfkin settled as well. Seeing no open challenge from that front, Snowspear turned her attention to the rest. "That leaves the six of us, then. Sister, I want you and Slingstone and Surefire to hunt to the sun-comes-up side of the grasses. Dirk and Foxears, you're both with me. We'll head to the sun-goes-down side. Hunt for three nights, or until you make a big kill. If you don't get anything big within three nights, turn around and come home. Four nights from now, we'll assess the situation here at home." Snowspear gave each of her hunters an assessing look, then nodded sharply. "Aye. Time's wasting while we stand here. Let's get going."

Night had only half passed as an exhausted Firemoss made her way back into her tree den. It felt to the plant shaper as though a hand of days had passed in that span of time. With the sheer number of elves and wolves that were sick, it took nearly half a day to treat everyone even when all the herbalists and helpers working together. By the time treatments were given, new medicines had to be brewed almost immediately in order to keep up with both dosages and demand. There was little time for rest or for sleep, and exhaustion had become a more than constant companion. However, Firemoss was adamant about not resting or sleeping when she knew her skills were sorely needed.

There had been a nagging in the back of the plant shaper's mind: even though the growing season had been plentiful and she'd gathered and stocked up before the cold had set in, there was no way her stores would last. There were just too many in need. Tendril, Birchbark and Dawnmist more than likely had supplemental supplies in their own dens, but Firemoss knew that even that wouldn't be enough. Firemoss tried to swallow the dread that thought made rise in her throat. She had to take things one at a time now, or fear and worry would drive her mad.

Firemoss smelled the pleasant apple-scent of chamomile as she ducked into the den. Mystic was stooped over the plant shaper's worktable, patiently crushing the dried flower to add to water he'd already heated to a boil. Firemoss felt her concern over the stores wane slightly as Mystic looked up and smiled at her. His help right now was appreciated more than words could say. He was a quick learner. He'd already become adept at making both the chamomile and goldenseal teas used for treating the vomiting and diarrhea and had adapted easily to an herbalist's routine. He rarely needed to ask anymore if something needed to be done; instead, he went about doing it without question.

Mystic's smile of greeting melted into a more concerned look as Firemoss approached and laid her ankle-length apron aside. **The chamomile is nearly gone,** he informed her. **And I'm afraid the goldenseal will only be enough for one more batch of tea; maybe two.**

Firemoss nodded solemnly as she glanced upwards at a ceiling once full of multitudes of dried herbs. It was as she'd suspected, although she hadn't realized it would come to it this soon. She took the mortar and pestle from Mystic's hands and gestured toward the too-quiet darkness outside. "Go check with Tendril and Birchbark - see if they have any left. And check Purehaven and Dawnmist's den, too." She knew the healer didn't often rely on herbal cures, but they couldn't afford to overlook any possible sources when there was such a need.

Mystic gave a quick nod and trotted toward the den's entrance, leaving Firemoss to ponder over what to do next. She decided she'd ration what was left, even though she hated to. A half-as-potent brew wouldn't cleanse as well as a full-strength one would, but that would make the supplies stretch. The forest didn't have much to offer during Bloom Rest. Everything was asleep and waiting for the cold to pass, and the healing properties of goldenseal and chamomile couldn't be rushed with plant shaping abilities; they got their effects from time spent in the sun and from the ground.

She'd tried bloodroot, but had little success with the usual cure-all. Though it was possible to harvest the root during Bloom Rest, hopes that the bitterroot would work had been too quickly crushed. Nothing was working. Nothing was going right, it seemed...

Firemoss slammed the pestle on the table, cursing both the sickness and the season. She slumped over the table and covered her eyes with a trembling hand. Exhaustion and an overwhelming feeling of helplessness suddenly drained her. Tears brimmed up in her eyes and overflowed as she sobbed, splashing into the bowl of crushed flowers beneath her eyes. They had come this far by treating the disease as best they could. Was all their work for nothing?

Then, it suddenly occurred to her - whistling leaves. They were some of the first plants to bloom during New Flood; it was possible that hurrying them along wouldn't produce such fruitless results as trying to rush chamomile and goldenseal. She'd used what was in her stores before, but chewing the leaves did seem to have some effect - Halfkin said he felt much better after chewing the plant. The herbalists could also make teas and tinctures to pour down the throats of those too weak to chew. It was worth a try!

With a new resolve, Firemoss set aside the pestle, wiped her bleary eyes, and grabbed her ankle-length tunic. **Mystic, can you make the next batch of teas and help Smokepath give them out?**

**Whistling leaves! Tendril, Dawnmist and I are going to grow some whistling leaves!**

The cubs were asleep inside the high den, but Purehaven sat up, gazing out the tiny window, shaped too small for even the most limber cub to slip through. Beechnut dozed in the pile of pelts at her father's feet. He marveled that the little cub who was such a ball of wild energy at night could sleep so calmly when it came time to rest.

Little cub... he chuckled inwardly. Beechnut was a cub no longer. She had undergone her spirit quest; she knew her inner soul. Though her body was still lanky like a yearling wolf's and her blood still young enough to fall victim to the sickness that stalked the tribe, he could hardly call her his cubling anymore.

"I'm not a child anymore!" Beechnut had snapped just the other day. The boredom of the high den quarantine was driving her to greater frustration with each day. Between Purehaven and Lionheart, they had managed to keep her as calm as possible, under the circumstances. In truth, part of Purehaven wanted to claw at the window-covers with her.

Wayfarer had died only yesterday. Purehaven could still feel the burning lock send from Dawnmist, as she had cried out in agony. Wayfarer had been old, oldest of all the wolves. Her passing was not surprising. But that knowledge did nothing to soothe Dawnmist's grief, nor his.

It was slow torture being away from his lifemate. The intimacy of sending could not quite compare to the simple joy of touch. How he longed to run to her, to hold her, to mourn with her. But he had to remain in quarantine. He reminded himself of the reasons at length whenever his resolve faltered.

'The cubs need me,' he told himself. 'The chieftess needs me. Her unborn cub needs me. If I leave the high den and fall ill, I may well doom the entire tribe.'

But what of the others, the ones ill at the holt? What about the wolves, steadily dying one after the other? Why could he not help them? What if Firemoss were to fall ill while she raced from elf to stricken elf? What if Dawnmist breathed in whatever foulness bred this sickness? How could simply lie helplessly in the high den while the specter of painful death hovered over all those he loved?

Halfkin was still ill. He could only imagine how Beechnut would suffer, should her sire die.

She thought Purehaven hadn't noticed how closely she was beginning to bond with Halfkin; but he had. Beechnut was becoming more drawn to the wolfsong in her, and it was only natural that she should be drawn to her wolfish sire. Purehaven had trained himself well not to feel jealousy. His rational mind knew he had no reason to envy Halfkin. Beechnut might be Halfkin's blood, but she was Purehaven's child. He and Dawnmist had raised her together, and never once had Purehaven ever been made to feel that he was anything less that her true father.

His rational mind told him this. But the little part of him that was more wolf than elf felt a simmering, brooding jealousy. What right had Halfkin to be called "Father" by his cub? When had Halfkin ever showed any true fatherly interest in Beechnut? Why could it not have been Purehaven's blood that flowed in Beechnut's veins, strong healer's blood, not feral wolf-blood that sickened more with each passing day?

There. The true origin of the little black pit of anger that gnawed away at him. Fear.

Halfkin bore the strongest Hunt blood of all the elves, and he had been the first elf to fall ill. Beechnut carried his blood. Did she carry the same weakness, the same susceptibility to this sickness?

No. He could not dwell on fears. Not with the cubs looking to him for guidance, not with Beechnut and Wildstar both on the edge of breaking and abandoning the sanctuary. He had to be strong.

**Mm... I'm not quite sure...** came the faint reply. **Asleep sitting up...I think. Are you?**

**Beechnut is...Beechnut. At least she's sleeping now. She wears herself out, climbing the walls of the den. I don't know how much longer we can hold her down.**

**Sit on her if you have to,** Dawnmist chuckled. Then her voice grew graver. **She cannot come back here... I know she wants to - she would want to help - but she shouldn't see - no cub should have to see this...** her sending wavered. **To see...**

**She's having seizures. So does Coldfur. Halfkin is here, but he is still so weak... I don't know what will happen. Our supplies of herbs are running low, we'll soon be stretched thin for fresh meat... I-** Again her sending faltered as exhaustion took its toll. **I don't know.**

Her voice was pained as it echoed in his mind. **Chet, you know I cannot. I've been exposed to it. I could bring death as my shadow.**

**But you've had no symptoms, have you? No weeping from the eyes, no coughing?**

**No, nothing,** she sent quickly, and Purehaven was relieved to hear the truth in her sending. **I'm exhausted, no more. But I-**

Her sending changed suddenly, grew fragmented the way sendings always did as an elf was jolted awake. Now there were no words, only images, sounds, sensations. The scraping of bark against skin as Dawnmist sprang up from the tree against which she had been dozing. The sound of wind whistling through her ears as she raced toward the wolf dens; the gray light of a cloudy afternoon.

**Oh, High Ones, no, not again, not another-** Dawnmist's words came in a panic, overlapping with flashes of light and the pain of muscles taxed in a sudden sprint. Purehaven found himself at the wolf dens, seeing what his lifemate saw. Another wolf lay on the ground, thrashing and seizing while Firemoss and Mystic struggled to restrain it. Tendril and Dapple were crowding around the wolf, shouting in garbled speech - or what sounded garbled to one watching through the eyes of a panicked elf.

Dawnmist drew closer to the wolf, and suddenly Purehaven could see a white and silver coat, a dark head, sharp, pointed ears - a big black nose, striking against the white of a long muzzle...

**No...no...no...** Were they his thoughts or Dawnmist's? He couldn't tell. He could only watch with sight that was not sight as Windmane continued to thrash in Mystic's arms, as Dapple fell alongside the fallen wolf and tried to hold her jaws shut.

His wolf-friend; who had been happily splashing in the puddles left by the last cloudburst...less than a moon dance before...before the quarantine...before the scent of whitestripe descended over the holt...

Windmane struggled one last time, trying to rise on her crippled hindquarters. Dapple gave a cry and leapt back as Windmane turned her back to snap at her. Windmane frothed at the mouth and collapsed back on her side. One final shudder overtook her body, and she lay still.

**No...no...** Dawnmist threw herself on the ground and hugged Windmane close. She buried her face in the wolf's fur, damp with fevered sweat. Purehaven could almost feel the fur brushed against his own cheek - his Windmane, gone before he could say goodbye - so that he could mourn through Dawnmist's touch.

**NO!** his mind shouted. **NO! Get away! Whisp! Get away. Don't touch it! Don't let the sickness take you! Get away!**

He felt Dawnmist retreat, too stunned to argue. He saw Windmane recede from her vision. Overcome, Purehaven broke the connection. He could not remain in lock sending. He could not remain at the holt, staring at Windmane's broken body.

Windmane...dead for less than a heartbeat before "she" became "it", before fear overcame sorrow, and an honoured and beloved wolf-friend became nothing but a mass of diseased fur and meat.

He would have howled, but he could not find his voice. But he wept in silence, the tears coursing down his cheeks. The only sound in the little den was of his rapid, shallow breaths.

It was loud enough to Beechnut's keen hearing. She sat up in the mess of furs. "Father?" she asked, her eyes already filled with tears as she saw his stricken expression. "Is it Halfkin?"

He swallowed the lump in his throat and shook his head. But he still could not speak.

"Not Mother," Beechnut said. She already knew it was not. She would have felt it. She held out her arms and Purehaven collapsed against her, sobbing into her dark hair.

"Windmane?" she asked, and he nodded as best he could. "Oh, Father," she whispered, at a loss to say more. What else could be said, in the end?

That they ought to break quarantine and be with their friends and the surviving wolves? That they were of no use to anyone in the high den - that they ought to do something? Now was not the time. And so she simply held him while he wept.

Snowsoft had sent that single word to her wolf-friend the night that the hunters had left in search of food. Lonefang had been almost too still then, almost lifeless. Incoherent. Snowsoft wanted nothing more than to be with him, but the tribe was in need of food. She wanted her bond to understand though, so as she had reluctantly left his side in the wolf dens to join Snowspear and the others, she had sent one last time to let him know where she was going.

Lonefang groggily lifted his head and whined. That single thought had been given to him more than a day ago, but to the feverish wall-eyed wolf, it seemed as though it had just been sent. Hunt. His mind swirled with images of joyously running through the cool night air, of chasing after prey, of gorging on sweet flesh until his belly could hold no more.

The desire to run welled in his very being. He wanted to be with his bond. He would run with her. He would hunt.

Shakily, Lonefang pushed himself to his feet. His knees wobbled as he walked toward the entrance to his den, and some hidden reserve of strength kept him on his feet as he staggered toward the cool night outside. Luck alone allowed him to keep his footing as he inched down the steep side of the rocky precipice leading to the wolf dens. When he finally did stumble, he fell only a short way to the ground.

He was unscathed from the fall, but he still laid there, whining. His body plead with him to rest, but his hunter's heart bid him to press on. He was determined to run with his bond. Grunting with the effort, he pushed himself to his feet again.

Snowsoft's scent had grown faint in the span of the day she had been gone, but it still blazed a clear enough path for the sharp-nosed wolf to follow. Muzzle pointed downward and breathing deeply, Lonefang followed the hunters' trail through part of the holt proper and then to the muddy banks of the Rushwater River. A recent hard night's rain had turned the waters murky and had swelled the waters well outside their banks. White-capped rapids churned dangerously in the middle of the waterway, and severed tree limbs bobbed treacherously past.

When Lonefang bent low to catch Snowsoft's scent again, his feet sank deeply into the soft, sticky riverbank. When he went to follow his bond once more, the suction from the mud pulled the weak wolf to his knees. The loosened bank began to shift and give way.

Panicked, Lonefang yelped and frantically tried to claw his way back up to safe ground. The roar of the river drowned out his cries, and the soft ground betrayed his every movement. No one was there to witness the bank give way completely. No one saw Lonefang and a slide of muck sucked helplessly below by the raging river current, never to surface again.

When worried elves came to the river later to search for the missing wolf, only claw marks etched deeply in the soft mud of the broken riverbank remained to tell the story of what had come to pass.

A shadow slipped down out of the trees ahead of them; Snowspear's keen nose identified Wolfstrider's scent before her eyes saw enough of him to recognize. She raised a hand in the silent signals the Hunt used, indicating to those who followed that there was no threat.

Moments later, Wolfstrider came into full sight, his black she-wolf trailing him. The hunter carried a tightly rolled wolf pelt with him, and his expression was mournful, lightning only slightly when he spotted the winter-thin scoop-horn doe strapped across the travois the

A Wayward Winter's Toll

RWH Collaborative Story