Chapter 2 The Son of Snow #4
Blacktail turned to face him. This close, he could see that the fox was older than he had first supposed. Elderly, even. Or at least in sight of it. No doubt he had seen fearsome things in his time. Probably he yawned at most of them. But the look in Blacktail’s eyes drove the fox back a half step.
“It’s all right,” Blacktail said. “I’m not angry. Not at you. But you’re wrong. I won’t die.”
“No?”
“No.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Because,” Blacktail growled, “I haven’t killed enough of them yet.”
They looked at each other in silence for a long moment.
“Ha!” the fox said. Elderly or not, he sprang to his feet and danced a lap around Blacktail, nipping here and there as he moved.
“What a delightful lunatic you are! Come along, then, Lord Vengeance, and we shall see about getting you out of this mess. They don’t call me Trap-Slipper for nothing, you know. ”
“Trap-Slipper? Is that your proper name?”
“I suppose so. It’s what my mother called me, anyway. Most people stick with plain old Slipper, though. If we’re to run together, I suppose you might call me that as well.”
“Eh? No, I couldn’t bring you into this. They’re hunting wolf, not fox.”
“Oh, pffft. I’m already in it. These idiots are in love with hate. They’ll kill everything on four legs, given half a chance. Come along.”
Still Blacktail hesitated.
“Don’t be an idiot,” Slipper said.
“What did you call me?”
“I called you an idiot. You’re not the first wolf who tried to outwit hunting men, you know.
When I was born, there were three strong packs hereabouts.
Mountain kings, they were, like in the old age.
I can show you their bones, if they haven’t rotted away by now.
But I’m still here. What does that tell you? ”
Blacktail considered the prospect of biting the fox’s ass until the insolence squirted out of his nose.
While he was mulling this over, a pair of the metal birds swooped by overhead.
There wasn’t any real danger—too many trees between them—but the point was taken.
Blacktail sighed. Truth be told, I could probably use the help. But all he said was “Very well.”
“ ‘Very well’? That’s your response to my offer of wisdom and assistance? Let me teach you a new word. It’s called gratitude. It means—”
“Enough!” Blacktail barked—but quietly, mindful they were being hunted. He took in a breath and then, through gritted teeth, “You’re right. I apologize. Thank you.”
“There. You’ve got it! That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Blacktail stared at him. The fox decided not to push it.
“Where to?” Blacktail said. “Lead on, pack lord. I am only a puppy.”
“That’s the spirit!” The fox gave him a friendly headbutt.
“We might try for the western wood…but there’s a good bit of open space between here and there.
With all these sky-thingies swooping about, that’s too much risk.
To the east are many roads, and the glowing dens of the two-legs.
It’s a good land for scavenging, if you’re careful…
but they’ll be stirred up as well, and it’s awfully crowded. ”
The baying of hounds echoed across the ridge. Not very close—but not very far, either.
“Oh dear,” the fox said. “That sounds like Cephus. He’s good.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “South, I think.”
“I already tried that.”
“Which, the ridge or the forest?”
“The ridge. The forest seemed too sparse.”
“It is sparse,” the fox said, “but that may work to our advantage.”
“How so?”
“Well, when the trees are sparse, the two-legs generally don’t guard them as well as they might.
They think that if they can see the trees, they should be able to see us.
That may be true, but they esteem their own eyesight too highly, I think.
Forests are busy on the eye. It’s easy to lose yourself in them.
I know.” He smiled a little. “Anyway, Mum always said that if I bet on the two-legs being arrogant and their hounds being noisy, I’d stay safe enough. ”
“What about the hounds? Won’t they see us?”
“I doubt it. They’re not like wolves. Their noses are exceptional, but their eyes are generally poor.
They’re inbred, most of them—even the two-legs can see better.
If we stay downwind we should be safe enough.
Also, those woods have a stream which may serve to obscure our scent.
You don’t mind getting your paws wet, do you? ”
Blacktail considered this. After a moment he said, “Mrrr.”
“ ‘Mrrr’? What does that mean?”
“It means that you’re a clever little shit and I’ll follow your lead.”
“Oh, I thought it was a new way of saying ‘thank you.’ Silly me.”
“Just…go.”
Slipper set out toward the southern wood.
Blacktail trotted along behind. They moved first through a shallow ditch at the side of the narrow trail.
The snow was coming down hard now and the bottom of the ditch was filled with icy mud.
Blacktail winced when he broke through the scrim of ice and felt the cold mud squish between his toes.
Blacktail opened his mouth to gripe a little…
but Slipper was wading through mud nearly up to his chest, without complaint.
The trail more or less traced the route of a road to their right.
The road was closer than he would have liked, but they were flanked by granite cliffs to the left and a sheer drop-off to the right.
Every so often, some Car roared by. One had hounds hanging out of its flanks.
As it passed, one of them scented Blacktail. They broke out into a barking frenzy.
“There! There he is! That’s him! The wolf! Dad, stop! Oh, blast. Car! Car, listen to me—that’s the wolf Dad is hunting! You must stop!” But Car obeyed only the two-legs. It roared on, oblivious.
Slipper watched them pass by, eyes wide and lip trembling, then trotted over to the asphalt and waved his behind at them.
“There!” he said, howling with laughter.
“Take a good look! That’s the closest you’ll ever get to Trap-Slipper, you servile, cringing morons!
Give your father a good bite in the balls for me, will you?
Next time you hump your mother, send her my love as well—she won’t have forgotten me, I think! And your sister! She was the best—”
“Are you quite finished?” Blacktail interrupted from the ditch.
“Eh? Yes, yes, I suppose so. See here, fellow. What’s your name?”
“Blacktail.”
“Oh?” Slipper gave him a longer look. “I may have heard of you. Look, I’ve no doubt you’re a fine hunter, Blacktail, but if you don’t mind me saying, you should try to get more fun out of life.
Did you see the looks on their faces? Hoo!
I tell you…” He trailed off, seeing it was a lost cause.
“Oh, never mind.” He hopped back in the muddy ditch and resumed his slogging.
Tough, clever, and a babbling buffoon, Blacktail thought. When fate is not cruel, it is funny. I sometimes wonder which is worse.
But perhaps he did smile a little when he was sure Slipper would not see.
iv
When they reached the border of the southern wood, Slipper peeked over the rim of the ditch.
His eyes widened. The trees of the southern woods fairly bristled with men and their hounds, many-many of them, standing only a pace or two apart.
They moved forward through the woods almost shoulder to shoulder.
Slipper sank back into the ditch and made a low groan deep in his throat. Blacktail wasn’t sure if he knew he was doing it or not.
“You’ve seen them do this before, yes?” Blacktail asked.
Slipper looked at him, wide-eyed. “I’ve never seen the like.” He looked Blacktail up and down, then took another sniff of his neck. “You really did it, didn’t you? You killed a pack of men.”
“You didn’t believe me?”
“I’ve met my share of braggarts,” Slipper said. “Let’s just say I was reserving judgment.”
“Maybe you should go now.” Blacktail’s tone was gentle. “You’ve done enough. There’s no need for both of us to…” He trailed off. “I can come up with something.”
Slipper stared at Blacktail. He was deep in thought. It took him a moment to answer. When he spoke, all the mocking was gone from his voice. “No,” he said. “That’s absolutely out of the question. I’m going to get you out of this. That’s all there is to it. Come along.”
“Where to?”
“We’ll circle back through the ditch, then try to flank them. Their line can’t stretch out forever.”
They backtracked north at first. Then Slipper broke off sharply to the east, moving fast and careless through the woods.
Blacktail worried that his paws were making fat tracks in the deep snow, but Slipper told him not to.
He soon saw why. The snow fell so fast and thick that the tracks were covered up almost as soon as they were made.
A hunter with sharp eyes might notice that something had passed through, but it could just as easily have been a deer or even a two-legs for all the detail that remained.
When they had gone far enough, Slipper stopped under a bush.
“Pause for a moment,” he said. “Catch your breath.” In truth, he was the only one breathing hard. “We’re downwind of them, and I think a few paces past the outermost edge of their hunt line,” Slipper said. “Now we must go to ground.”
“What? Hide?”
“Yes. All the bloodhounds are well to the west of us, and the wind is in our favor. Men will pass by here, but no dogs. Do you see that fallen tree over there, the one next to the hemlock bush?”
“I see it.”
“A bison died near there late in the autumn. The stink still lingers. Go to earth between it and the hemlock. When you’re settled, remain still.
This snow will cover you quickly. And—this is very important—unless you’re quite sure you’ve been seen, do not move.
The hunter’s eye is drawn first to motion, and only later to color and shape.
Resist the temptation to look at them. Control your heartbeat.
Breathe shallow. Don’t move until I do. Do you understand? ”