Page 83 of Blacktail

Chester twitched his ears wryly. “Of a sort. One will surely die when I’m done, at any rate.”

“Hmm. If you’re to go hunting, you’ll need to keep your strength up. You should eat something.”

Chester almost laughed. But for some reason he didn’t.

The creature stood silent for a moment, watching him. It stepped off the rock and circled around to the east, framed now by a cloudless blue sky. Now he recognized it for a wolf—or wolfish, at any rate. It was enormous, at least two times his own size. Maybe three. The thing’s head dipped out of view for a moment. Then it tossed a small body up onto the rock. Chester examined it.

It was Sliderpaw, his hateful joking mouth now silent and trailing a trickle of blood. Chester looked up, amazed.

“This one was to be my lunch. But you need a meal worse than I do, I think,” the stranger said. “Go on. Eat.”

Chester wasted no more words, but devoured the body. He did not bother to pull off the meat, but bit directly through the fur and bones, crunching little bites between his back teeth, gnawing everything to a pulp. When it was done, Sliderpaw lay in his stomach like a warm rock. He felt a little better. He looked up at the stranger, wagged his tail. “If you’re not God, you’ll do in a pinch. Who are you?”

“I am called Blacktail.”

“I’m Chester,” he said, now looking down the length of his body at Blacktail. “Actually, I’m about half of Chester. Perhaps a bit less.” He rolled over and strained to sit up. His flesh hung loose on him, like the skin of rotting fruit. He blinked again and scented Blacktail, interested despite himself. “You smell of”—sniff, sniff—“the lands north of here? Other places as well. How far are you come?”

“Long and long,” Blacktail rumbled. “I honestly don’t remember anymore.” He paused. “Long.”

Chester sniffed again, then frowned. “If you don’t mind my asking…are you ill? Your scent is—”

“Think nothing of it. It is of no consequence.”

Chester looked at him for a moment, not understanding. “Whatever you say,” he said doubtfully. He twitched his tail in a weak attempt at a wag, dismissing the thought. “Well, welcome to the Starving Rocks. I, for one, am glad you made the trip.”

“Forgive me,” Blacktail said, “but I must ask. What manner of creature are you? Your mark smells of red wolf, but not entirely. You bear a two-legs name, but your paw and fur are wolfish. I can make no sense of it.”

“I am a half-breed,” Chester said. To his own surprise, the fur on the back of his neck rose a little bit. “My mother was a dog, but my father a wolf. Is that a problem for you?”

Blacktail snorted. “In these times, only fools talk of bloodlines,” he said. “Though in truth, those fools do go on.”

“Eh?”

“Nothing. I was trying to say that there are few enough of us left without worrying about purity. I myself am a half-breed, and my pups would have been as well.”

Chester’s ears perked up. “Oh? Your father was a wolf?”

“I never knew my father. My mother was the wolf.”

Chester took a shaky step over and scented the base of Blacktail’s tail. “You do smell a little peculiar,” he allowed. He said nothing else about the scent of illness, though it was strong and clear. “Well, half-breed or no, you’re welcome here. I’ve little to offer in the way of hospitality. The stream back yonder is tasty, though.”

“Kind of you to offer,” Blacktail said. “So you say these lands are called the Starving Rocks? That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not. This place might not be hell, but I think it’s just down the way.”

“Then why live here?”

Chester snorted. “Why do you think? I’ve nowhere else to go. Good lands are few and far between. No pack would have me as I am now. My mate is lost.”

“What mate? Does she not howl for you? Can you not follow the sound?”

“She does howl for me sometimes. I hear her in my dreams,” Chester said quietly. “But I will not follow. Not anymore.”

Blacktail wagged his tail. “Then you’re stuck here, I’d say.”

“So it seems.”

“What do you eat?”