Nash was dragging the carcass of a large buck. A fat, gray rabbit dangled from Carsha’s mouth. He would have field dressed the animals, but he hadn’t brought a knife. Because he vowed never to shift to his human form again, a knife would have been useless anyway. Opposable thumbs had distinct advantages, but he would get by without them. He was out to prove, for reasons not altogether clear, being a Wolf was as good as being a human. Carsha whined behind him and he stopped to look at her. She dropped her rabbit and sat back on her haunches, panting. Apparently there were limits to the pup’s boundless energy. Nash dropped the leg of his deer. Almost home, he barked. She melted into her human form, scowling at him. “I’m tired, Uncle Nash.” It’s going to start snowing soon. We need to hurry. “I can’t. I’m too tired.” Climb up on my back. I’ll carry you for a bit. Her face broke into a wide smile.
